A Series of Jumps
by xxFeline.Of.Avenue.Bxx
Summary: An expansion of my oneshot, "Taking a Leap". I hope you all enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

Well, "Taking A Leap", my little baby, my project for school, turns out, it got amazing reviews on here and on tumblr and facebook where I also posted it. And all of my friends, even those who don't know of Next to Normal loved it. This made me a special brand of happy, and since I cannot get enough of Gabriel Goodman, I decided to expand upon it and write a prequel. And after I wrote that prequel, it got amazing reviews so I decided to take this one, beautiful little idea and make it into a full length fic.

I have such glorious plans for it and I've had so much fun writing it, I hope you all have as much fun reading it.

I do not own Next to Normal

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><p>"Birds are singing, things are growing. Even the clouds in the sky look stunning." I would very much like to agree with him, but I've just recently stepped into a puddle and, despite the fact that my sneakers cost more than I'd like to think about, they offer no protection when it comes to water. My neon checkered socks are soaking wet, the sole of my shoe has been penetrated by rain water and with every step I take, I hear a loud, wet, squash, that makes the stirs up the water sitting inside my shoe.<p>

"Gabe, the parking lot is flooded…" I say, small frown set on my lips and he wraps an arm around me, pulling me in swiftly which forces me to hop on one of my feet and try to regain balance.

"It's not that bad out. The breeze is nice, and it's not freezing." It's not, it's seventy and sunny, and the breeze is nice, but the air is so moist, it's like trying to breathe under water. And Gabe just tends to be unnaturally optimistic about everything, especially weather, which is the one thing that tends to get me down no matter how good a mood I am in.

"No, but it's not like walking to the buses is a pleasant thing anyway…" I murmur, wincing as my shoes make another obnoxious noise. Oh buses. Public transportation where freshmen think deodorant is optional. It's not.

And Gabe and I? We're sophomores. I turn sixteen soon. He turned sixteen a while ago and his mom was planning on getting him a car (he says it's "too easy" to manipulate her) but his dad put his foot down, so we're stuck on buses. For now, I know Gabe, have known him since age six and it's only a matter of time until he gets what he wants.

"Not really." He chuckles, and his arm is still wrapped around me and I lean into him a little bit, smiling. It's not really something I can help when I'm around him, even with the impending doom of the big yellow buses.

"Maybe it'd be better if it weren't so wet out."

"Maybe." He agrees and for a little, we walk in silence, because unfortunately, the walk to the buses is longer than one might expect, it's irritating, but with Gabe, it is less. Somehow, he can make any unpleasant situation into one that I actually look forward to. I step in another puddle and groan. "Do you want me to carry you?" He chuckles and I snort a bit, like the very thought insults me as a woman, but a smile plays at the corner of my lips. Half of me wants to say yes, but that is another story, and would only result in the extreme expansion of his ego, which is unnecessary, considering I stroke it enough on a regular basis, just by liking him as much as I do.

"I'd say that you couldn't, but you'd probably think that was a challenge and then accept the challenge." I say and he laughs, shrugging.

"You're probably right." He's eyeing me the strangest way and I feel self conscious enough to squirm a bit. It's like he's eyeing up the competition, or looking over something he's about to buy, and that really doesn't help the predicament that I am constantly in with him. "_Is _it a challenge?" He lifts an eyebrow, smirking and I laugh one short, "oh my god are you actually asking that" kind of laugh, standing upright, watching as his arm falls back to his side. "What too exciting, too spontaneous for you to handle?" He smirks, and I can't even write it off as a smirkish smile. Let the manipulation begin.

The only thing is, it's not manipulating, not really, I am not dumb, I am smart enough to realize that he is charming and convincing and does such a good job of getting people to do whatever he wants. I am smart enough to realize that when I don't do what he wants, he does this to me. But I am also smart enough to know that if I don't want this to happen, I can walk away. Somehow, every other thing about Gabe outweighs the irritation of his ability to wrap me around his finger.

Still, I brace myself for the worst.

"I'm perfectly exciting and spontaneous, Gabe." I inform him, and he's still grinning at me that way, but this time there's a glint of amusement in his eyes, like I've just told a mildly amusing joke.

"Exciting, sure, spontaneous, not really." And he says it in such a polite tone, it's not offensive, it can't possibly be, but I look up at him, arms crossed defensively to my chest, because him having even a mildly unpleasant feeling about me, him not considering me perfect, it's too unfair for me to handle when he is the epitome of perfection.

"I'm spontaneous." I repeat myself and he's still got that look on his face and I feel mine morphing into something far more serious. He sees my flaws and it is inevitable, but terrible. It's like stripping down only to find out the person doesn't want to see more than your bare arms. My face flushes with embarrassment and I look away, content with staying silent and nodding tersely and politely at correct intervals through the rest of what is going to be a one sided conversation when Gabe slips his hand into mine. I look up, his reaction tells me he is either trying to comfort me or trying to get me to do something he wants. Or both. It's hard to tell with him, sometimes.

"Okay, let's do this, we're going to do something spontaneous right now." He says and I instantly feel my hopes rising and I tell myself not to get them up, because he's not going to do what I've been waiting years for him to do, he's not going to read my mind, he's not going to understand.

"What?" I ask.

He doesn't respond the way I want him to. Of course.

"We're going for a walk." He says, and he pulls me off the sidewalk, away from the school. We're not going in any specific direction, but I turn to stare back at the busses, my way home, with a strange sort of longing that I never knew I could feel for public transportation vehicles.

"We'll miss the bus." I tell him, but still, I am his rag doll and he pulls me along with ease.

"Then we'll walk home." He says.

"Gabe…my house is ten miles away…"

This does not deter him in the least.

He leads me to the park we met at as kids, the one with the swings that used to be rocket ships and now make me feel like I have the most oversized hips in the world and the slides that used to go on for mile and now are only about as long as my legs, and the monkey bars that used to seem so high, but now if I stand on my toes, I can touch the ground. And he takes me over to those too small swings and we sit, both of us rocking back and forth.

"Welcome to the world of spontaneity." He grins and I laugh and we sit there for a minute in silence.

"This park used to be huge." I say, looking around, and truly, in those days, it felt like we had this gorgeous, woodchip filled continent to play on, and play we would. Whatever I wanted to play, because yes, Gabe always wants to get his way and yes, most of the time he convinces people to let him, but he also makes everyone he gives even a second of his time to feel special. Like they're the only person in the world, and all he asks in return is that you treat him the same. And that's probably why we get along so well. Because he is the only person in the world. Always.

"We've grown up, some things get smaller, some things get bigger. But it's nice that in the end, you can always go back to the beginning and take a peek. Some things you find weren't as amazing as they used to be, and others are twice as perfect as you could ever imagine, but no matter what, they're still there if you really need them to be." I always like to think I am smart, but then he speaks and I'm so astounded by what he can do with words. For all of my intelligence, I could never even hope to come up with something like that.

His hand slips into mine again, warm and smooth, a stark contrast to my always freezing hands and we both glance down at our hands. He looks up first, I feel his eyes on my face and I redden a shade that must be _very_ attractive before looking up to meet his eyes.

"I want to do something…" He barely whispers, it's something that only I am meant to hear. He slips the hair that has fallen over my shoulder back behind it, slides his hand up my shoulder, my neck, up to cup my face and then, ever so slowly, leans in, sliding his lips against mine.

There is nothing else in the world. Just Gabe's mouth and mine and it doesn't feel real, it doesn't feel possible that the boy who I've been in love with since he shared his cupcake with me in first grade is kissing me. It doesn't seem possible that the person who uses physical gestures so freely with me, who holds my hand and wraps an arm around me like we are still six and those are just friendly gestures, is sharing such a meaningful gesture with me. It doesn't even seem believable that this could occur outside of my dreams, and all of these points that make this experience surreal stop me from thinking clearly.

I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, drawing him in closer to me, kissing him back, mouth pressed firmly against his, but going no farther, not moving forward anymore, because for all of the times I have thought about this, this is the first time it is really happening and I know Gabe, he wants it to be gentle, and perfect and sweet, for me. And I want all of those things too.

But I have wanted them longer. And more intensely, and so badly that if I get it and then it is ripped out from underneath me or he ever wants to become just friends again, I will not be able to handle it. I will fall apart and nothing will be able to mend me.

I pull away from him so fast, breathing so hard it's like I've just been away from death and brought back to life, and I'm trying to catch my breath.

"What's wrong?" He knows right away that something is amiss, he doesn't even need to ask if I'm alright, he knows I'm not, but he's still touching my face, his hand is still in mine and I'm going to start crying if I don't get up and leave him now. I can't handle tears, really I can't. I don't even cry unless the circumstance is cripplingly painful. I can't deal with what we have right now, it's too comfortable, it's too perfect of a fit for me, and if he doesn't feel _exactly_ the same way then it's going to hurt me too much.

I get up off of the swing and walk away and he's following right on my heels because he's so much taller than me and even though I am a fast walker, he can keep up easily.

"Talk to me!" He insists and it's not an order, even though he has looped around me and is standing in front of me and has my face in his hands. "If you that's not what you want, that's fine, we can take things slow or pretend that never happened or whatever you want." He says and I pull away, unable to deal with how wonderful my face feels with his hands on it.

"No, that's exactly what I needed, but it's only a want for you, Gabe I've been in love with you since you shared your stupid cupcake with me when we were six! You can't tell me that you haven't thought that maybe, just maybe I felt that way!" He hesitates.

"I'm a guy, I mature slower, it's taken me longer to realize what I want." He says, trying to take my hand again, but I'm walking faster, far away from the park, far away from him.

If only. I cross the street while the cross walk sign tells me I can abut he takes off after me.

"Just stop it, okay, it won't work, we'll break up, and you'll be able to live with it and I won't, I'll die!" I snap at him. "Gabe I want to, I want to so badly, but I can't, it's better for us this way, it's safer and we won't get hurt and we can just keep this friendship thing going and it'll all be fine."

"But what if I want to be with you too, think about that. I want you and you want me, there's no reason for us not to be together. You know everything about me, and you like all of the good and the bad. You even like my demented family. You know I can handle everything about you. No, it's more than that, I love everything about you." His use of the word love sends a jolt of pain through my body and I feel a migraine coming on and I pinch my eyes shut, trying to block out the pain and the stress and the tears. For one second.

Just one second.

That second, the light turns, a driver is talking on their phone, they're not paying attention.

Just for a second. And I am in their way.

The car comes speeding at me, I hear Gabe scream my name and I open my eyes a second too late, there's no way I can avoid getting hit, there's no way I can avoid my death.

I could have stayed at the park. I could have stayed and kissed Gabe and we might have had a happy ending with three children playing outside on our front lawn and a dog, even though I am not a dog person, and a warm, cozy little house somewhere far away from this town. We could have had it all. But instead, that one second will make sure I lose it all.

And I do, I lose everything.

I look up and I don't see a blinding white light, but the mix between sun and overcast that was in the sky a moment ago. My elbow hurts, a lot, so does my side, and I wonder how the car just managed to push me out of the way. I look around, heart pounding, look around for Gabe because all I can think now is that I'm alive and I have realized how stupid I was and now we can be together and we'll make it work forever. My heart is pounding and adrenaline has heightened my senses and I'm searching so desperately for him.

He's not here.

And I feel like all of the air has been drained from me, I am dead aren't I? Or in limbo or something? He's not here because we are not even of the same world any more and I can't even find a way to react to that, it feels like I am numb.

But then as soon as it starts, everything stops. All of the cars are stopped, even the one that hit me, although it is in front of where I stood. And the woman in it, she's outside of the car, hands clamped over her mouth. Everyone is getting out, staring, there are a few screams and I can't comprehend why, until I see Gabe in the spot where I once stood. See Gabe where he pushed me away from the car.

See Gabe's lifeless corpse where he saved my life.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two of my baby, edited by the lovely and wonderful heartfelt-lullaby.

She is the best beta ever and has some awesome stuff up.

Anyhow, you should all know, my computer currently has a virus, so for the next week and a half ish, I won't have anything up. I do apologize, I'm having oodles of fun writing this.

Also, I'm going to see N2N for the first time, live, on the 14th of June. I am a whole special brand of excited.

I love all of you who have taken the time to come back and read this second chapter, I would be nothing without you

I don't own anything other than my sexy N2N tickets.

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><p>Summer feels like winter. Day feels like night. Sun feels like rain. Everything aches. And I am in a constant state of hysterics, on the floor, feeling like something is ripping me open with the deadliest weapon it can, dragging out my torture, no matter how I scream for it to stop.<p>

You would scream too if his cold, dead body bled out on you in all of your dreams.

He died in May. The hospital scene was heavy. Me doubled over outside of the morgue, choking on my sobs, my family trying to comfort me while Diana Goodman wept and begged for them to save her baby boy. I did not beg, my hope died with the boy I love. Dan took his wife outside for some air, despite her screaming protests and Natalie sat down beside me for a moment, opened her mouth to say something, shut it and walked away, leaving me to my desolation.

In June, we had the funeral, and all anyone ever talks about now is how poor Diana was such a mess. At least that's all I hear about, perhaps people have the courtesy to forgo mentioning that when I went up to see his body, I went into a panic attack, started howling and hyperventilating, and I had to run out of the church to "get some air". Mom wouldn't let me go to the burial; she knows I would have jumped in with him.

In July everyone moves on, like he was never there, but I still feel all of it. I feel his weight slamming against me, moving me out of the way, feel my breath being ripped out of me, like I am being suffocated, feel the same destructive pain I felt when he was hit. I hide in my room with the door locked and the blinds closed and my body beneath the darkest blankets. I cry to the point where I have accepted that one cannot cry their eyes to the point where they dry. My voice is gone, and thankfully, no one tries to take me to any cook outs or bonfires or concerts. No one tries to make me pretend this isn't killing me.

All the same, I feel the world moving under me. Everything is racing by and I'm trapped at a standstill because I cannot go on without him. One night, I don't even bother changing out of the faded jeans and the tank top, or putting shoes over the black socks with the green and purple stars, I just run to his grave stone.

It is two days before anyone even finds me, and they all but drag me home.

In September I beg and plead with my mom to home school me, because when my sister and brother start getting everything ready for school, I start shaking violently and although my voice is back, I can still barely talk and everything sounds choked out, and I insist that I cannot handle school. But she tells me no, tells me I must try to move on and that surrounding myself with good friends will make everything better. But my mom does not understand, she does not know what it feels like to die alive.

I realize I have been living in a fog. I haven't stopped crying and I haven't stopped feeling the pain, but in the summer I can hide away and pretend he is on vacation, or pretend that the world doesn't exist. But once school starts, everything becomes concrete. Everything becomes real. And in the minds of all others, he will be forgotten.

November hits, and so does his birthday and on that day, I become so physically ill that mom rushes me to the hospital, only to be told that they cannot find anything wrong with me. I don't tell her that it's because he's supposed to be with me today, how I'm supposed to be baking him a cake and he's supposed to be bragging about how he's so much older than me. Mom's already starting to get nervous, starting to talk about therapy, and I don't want to stress her out any more, but most of all I don't want some doctor picking around my brain, trying to tarnish his memory or make me leave him behind. I won't leave someone that meant…that means so much to me behind.

By January, my social life is gone. My grades aren't even decent any more. I've given up even trying not to fall down stairs. Let me fall, maybe I'll land on my head, maybe it will split open and I can bleed out on the floor. Wouldn't that be perfect?

May returns with a vengeance and I am more of a mess than ever on the anniversary of that day. I try to hold myself together, because my mom tells if I break down one more time because of him and I can't go to school, then she's going to get me "help", and I want to avoid this dreadful punishment she has hanging right over my head so badly. So, I go to class, shaking and trembling and I make it through the first hour, only digging my nails into my arm to the point where they break skin once. But Second Period comes and I lose it. It's just a couple of Seniors looking up Spark Notes for Paradise Lost and they mention the angel, Gabriel, and then I crack.

No, crack is too delicate a word, I shatter into a million pieces.

I shake more violently than the little tremors that my body has almost become accustomed to, my shoulders hunch over, my throat tightens until all that comes out of my mouth is a loud, choking noise and a few very dry sobs, thanks to my constantly aching throat. The tears pour out but I barely even feel them because my head is pounding so badly that any other sort of physical issue is barely noticeable. I don't even notice that my nails have pierced my arm until I feel someone touch me and it's probably the teacher, going to escort me to someone who can help me, but at this faint touch, my mind takes a leap and the images of the crash flash before my eyes. I run out of the room as fast as my legs can move.

I am not surprised when the school counselor calls me down to her office an hour later.

She and I sit there for a moment, me with my tremors and her with this "sympathetic" expression, like she is waiting for the melt down, but I'm just waiting to leave. I have avoided this terrifying event for a year now. I never wanted this to happen. Why is this happening?

"Do you know why we're here?" She asks me and I can't bring myself to do anything more than nod pathetically because if I say no or play dumb, she's going to try to tell me how to live, tell me that what I'm doing is wrong. And everything is hard enough already. I can't help what I feel, but I know she wouldn't understand.

She's never had everything she's ever loved ripped out from under her in a matter of seconds.

"It's been a year since the accident, I'm very worried about you, I thought you might come here to talk but when you didn't I assumed you were seeking help elsewhere. Are you?" She asks, and it sounds like she's trying to avoid walking on glass, I wince. I feel like I am about to crack. I shake my head and she makes this face at me so I stare right behind her head at the grey walls of her office, clenching my jaw so hard that it hurts, but it's the only thing that keeps me from falling apart. "You can talk to me, you know. I'm your counselor, I'm here for you." She says and I feel my throat closing up again.

"I don't want to talk about that." I all but snap, because it feels like she's trying to pick at my scabs, but my wounds will never even heal to that point.

"Then let's not talk about that. We could talk about your grades, you're failing Chemistry." She informs me, playing the concerned mother card and I have to blink because the wall behind her seems to have gotten darker, almost black. My stomach is twisted in a knot. "You're no longer interacting with your peers, you've quit every club you were in last year." _I know that!_ "You had many other friends." She reminds me. I can't even look at them any more without wanting to die. I wasn't nearly as close to anyone else as I was to Gabe, and I never want to be. I just want him back. I want to feel him holding me again, I want to feel his hand in mine, I want him to talk me through this, my throat tightens and the tears are coming and I can't even help it, I get up out of the chair and run out of the office.

This begins the worst of the descent. And the worst of it hits much harder than the previous events.

It starts the same way it ended, with a touch, I feel something ruffling through my hair when I turn over in my bed on Saturday and for a second, I close my eyes and dive into some fantasy world where it's him. And for the first time in over a year I actually feel myself smiling. It lasts for a second, because the feeling is gone just as quickly and I fall apart in my bed, wishing he were at my side again.

The next blip is just as brief, but the aftershocks last longer. I visit the park that we went to together; out of sheer masochism because this is easily in the top five worst days I've had in my life. Why not just make it all the more painful? Why not just make everything debilitating and crippling and hopeless? I sit there shaking and sobbing, and then there's this pressure around my hand, warm and tight and I choke on the air I breathe as panic hits, hard and fast and I begin hyperventilating. It feels exactly like it did when he held my hand that last time.

Then, it's a vision, I'm tired and falling asleep over the chemistry homework I'm not doing. My eyes feel dry and they're starting to flutter shut, but in between blinks, he's right there, clear as the day, right in my face and I fall back in the chair I'm in. I start to hyperventilate again. I cannot try to be logical and call this a sensory attack; this is something completely new and impossible. He is here somehow. And I cannot stop wanting more.

And I see him all the time for split seconds, in the hall, on the bus, in my room and I'm in a constant state of panic, but for the first time in a very long time, I actually feel good. I feel like he's there, no matter how delusional it seems. And what's worse, is it begins feeling less and less insane. It begins to feel like a possibility, he might be back.

I start thinking about him non stop, it's like I've opened up a box that has been too tightly packed and now it is exploding, but I feel just a little better. A little more whole, like he is part of me again. He's there again, in my head, all over my world, coming in when I don't expect it, for seconds at a time and I can't even believe it. He's back. Gabe's back. Gabe, Gabe, Gabe, Gabe, Gabe.

It's like I can touch him, it's like I can feel him and each time I think about him, I start seeing him longer. Until one morning, he's there at my side when I wake up.

It's not something I accept at first, I'm sure I'm dreaming-or dead- but he speaks and it's his voice, exactly how I remember it.

"Morning, sunshine." He says, grinning this sideways sort of grin and my throat is so tight, I have no idea how any air is coming through. Then I realize I'm not breathing and I fall back onto my bed, gasping loudly, desperately. Hyperventilation is unavoidable, and it's worse than ever now, I start blacking out from lack of oxygen and then when it comes on too quickly, I start blanking out because all of the oxygen is making me high and I can't even see Gabe right now because my eyes are pinched tight, but he's there, he's there, he's really there and after a few minutes, I finally pull myself up, hand clamped to my chest, eyes wide, face completely washed out.

I eye him very carefully. Every little detail is in place, exactly how I remember him. But it's not like it's some kind of ghost, he's not wearing the same outfit he wore that day, it's like he's really here again.

I reach out a shaky hand to touch him and his hand moves up to meet mine and hold it tightly.

I hear a shrill scream and realize it's mine as my mom darts into the room a few seconds later.

"What's wrong?" She asks, panting heavily, probably because she ran up the second she heard me scream, and I'm still shaking and everything is still frightening.

Only it's not. Because he is still here. He is here, and all is right in the world.

I'm looking right into his eyes, trembling, hand still pressed against his, and my mom is looking at me, but I don't even see her, all I see is him. I clamp one hand over my mouth as the tremors intensify. He's here. I don't know how or why, but I won't look a gift horse in the mouth, not this one.

"Honey…?" My mom takes a step toward me and I whip my head around, meeting her eyes, hand slowly falling from my mouth as a timid smile touches my lips.

"Mom, he's back, he's here, see!" I say and her eyes widen and her expression falls.

"Oh…oh God." And I'm sure she's as shocked as I am, but I get up on my knees to take his face into my hands and he holds my wrists in his.

"Someone's a little excited." He chuckles and I want to say something snarky and sarcastic, but I feel like I'm floating, like I'm on this cloud of euphoria. I am riding on the brightest buzz, I cannot find a single negative thing about this moment.

I don't even think about how this might be a dream, or maybe I died, none of that matters because there is no way this isn't happening. This is real, I know real from not real. I know that this is happening.

I think my mom is calling my father's name, and after a couple minutes, my entire family has poured into my doorway, but to me they're barely there, they're like some other part of reality, a different dimension, they're not even with me.

"They're staring." I tell Gabe and he brushes some hair behind my ear.

"Let them stare. Don't pay any mind to them. Just look at me." He says. "Then they'll see what you see." I smile at him, because it's so perfectly put, such a silver tongue, exactly how I remember him and I could sit there and smile at him like an idiot all day; but mom, who's now got tears prickling up in her eyes looks to me, setting a hand on my shoulder.

"Mom, he's back. I don't know how, but he's back." I tell her and I watch her face grow whiter but I don't understand why. Shouldn't she be happy for me? For Gabe and I?

"Baby…he's not here." She tells me. At first, I don't understand, of course he's here!

"No, mom, he's right here, I'm touching him, how can you even say something like that?" I snap at her and my hands fall away from Gabe's face, down to his shoulders and he sets a hand on my back, keeping me steady, keeping me close.

"She just doesn't understand." He tells me and I know my mother is completely crazy. how can she not see him?

"Mom, he's clear as the day!" I tell her and she touches her hand to her mouth.

"He's been dead for a year now, he's gone." Mom says, so timidly, like she thinks I'll break and Gabe pulls me closer.

"No, mom!" I feel irritated, because I know that already! But it doesn't change what's happening, how can she not understand that? "I know that, he was gone and now he's back! I told you!" I shout at her and how can she not see how this all makes perfect sense? My head starts to pound and I pinch my eyes shut, suck in a breath and then face my mother again. "Mom, just touch him, he's there, he's solid, you've got to believe me!" I shout and I look up to my dad and brother and sister, hoping for some support from one of them, but they've all got that same horrified look on their faces that mom has, like something out of a movie. The same expression copied and pasted onto each face. "Mom!" I shout again and she turns away; I hear a choked sob and my fingers dig into Gabe's shoulders.

"Can you call that number up for the Doctor we found and schedule an appointment?" Mom asks my dad and he nods, trying to be strong and silent, bringing my siblings away from the scene with him.

"Doctor? Mom, what are you talking about?" I snap at her, everything feels like it's spinning, the only solid thing in the room is Gabe and he's still got a tight hold on me, like he's the only thing that's real.

"It's alright, honey, this Doctor, he's very good, we've gotten so many recommendations, he's going to make this better, I promise." Her words dawn on me.

She's been talking about me, her daughter, depressed, down and traumatized. She's been talking about psychiatrists and psychologists and everything in between and for some reason, she thinks I need to see one.

"What? Why? Mom, I'm fine, everything's better now!" I insist, eyes pleading and she looks away from me.

"No, he's not there. Baby, you're seeing things, and I know this must be hard, but he's dead, he can't come back—"

"You don't know anything mom! You just don't know him, and you don't know me, and I'm not going to your stupid doctor now that things are finally better! He's here again, and you can't take him away from me, dammit!" I scream, tearing myself away from Gabe, lunging in the direction she's in, she pulls back, eyes wide and filling with tears as she runs out of my room and I sit there, staring after her until I feel a pair of arms wrap around me and I look back up to Gabe.

"It'll be fine, she's not the one who cares, I am. Don't let her rip us apart." He says, touching my hair and I nod, sliding around to pull him into a tight hug.

"I won't." I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

Oh god, I haven't updated this in forever and it's been finished since September!

Oh well.

More to come. I hope for reviews. Constantly.

Unbetaed, because my glorious beta reader has a life :)

Enjoy.

I own nothing.

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><p>3.<p>

It's a Wednesday when I lose my mom.

Not in the death sense of the word. My mother is alive, but the mom I knew is long lost.

It's after school because unfortunately after seeing Gabe, my summer flew by. Between therapy sessions three times a week and time with him, I haven't had a second of downtime.

In those three months, everything has changed.

My family no longer treats me like I am a human being. My father doesn't speak to me at all, he doesn't even ask me to do work for him anymore, and perhaps I'd be happier about that if he didn't go out of his way to ignore me. It's like he doesn't know how to handle me, so he's not even going to try. My sister and brother both watch me with furtive glances, like I am some strange wild animal that will unhinge at any moment and attack them on a dime. My sister talks to me like I'm a two year old who can't think coherently, my brother follows my dad's suit and ignores me. It must be nice to have a sister who's "crazy". It'll definitely make them popular.

My mother has made the most drastic of changes though. The woman who used to have so much hope for me, who used to believe I could get through anything and wanted me to fight my way through life to make my dreams come true, the woman who supported me and would do just about anything she could for me now no longer exists. She looks at me like I was an animal, but not the wild, untamed animal my siblings saw. Instead, I am a glorious bird with a wounded wing or something along those lines. Something that was once magnificent but is now wounded, she acts like she needs to heal me, but still knows deep in her mind that I will never again stand on the pedestal she once held me on. She works two jobs because she insists these therapy sessions will make me better. We have no money for medication and I wouldn't take it anyway. I'm not quite sure what is making me see Gabe, but if something in my mind changes because of this medicine, and I am not able to see him, I will die.

Yet that's what everyone seems to want me to do. Stop seeing Gabe, that is. Everyone who doesn't completely ignore me just talks about how good things will be when I "stop having these delusions" but I still don't believe they are delusions. Not when he sits at my side every day, his hand in mine, sometimes. Every now and then, his lips against mine, he feels so solid, he is warm and strong the way he used to be. How am I supposed to believe he is not really there when I see him clear as the day, touch him like he is standing right next to me, hear him as loud as I hear anyone else. Even if he weren't this real, he still makes me happy for the first time in over a year, I smile, I laugh, and I go to bed without crying. How can that be a bad thing?

He hates what they do to us as much as I do. Everyone who tells me I need to leave him behind makes him upset at any mention of thm and sometimes I have to give his hand an extra squeeze and tell him that nothing is going to separate us and that I don't want anything to.

I get in my mother's car when school gets out, but I desperately do not want to go. I take my time to go to the car. It's not that I hate my psychologist or anything; I actually enjoy having someone that I can actually talk to about Gabe, and how good he makes my life. But at some point during every single session, he always feels a need to remind me that Gabe is my "hallucination" and our goal is to get rid of him. And then I remember this is "treatment", treatment that I do not want and will never want.

"You have to move faster next time, we don't want to be late to your appointment." She says the second I have shut the door and I look out the window, bringing my knees up to my chest. What ever happened to "how was your day, honey?". "You know Doctor Madden is in very high demand, he's almost constantly booked. If we don't arrive on time, I'm sure he'd be more than happy to see someone else instead." She says.

"Funny, that would make me more than happy too." I grumble and she takes her eyes off the road for a second to look over at me with this appalled look, like she cannot believe I'm saying that. Does she really expect me to be enjoying these sessions?

"Doctor Madden is great, he treated Sue at work." She tells me.

"Right, Sue, wasn't she the bipolar lady you got his name from? Well good for Sue, have you been keeping her up to date on my mental state too? Because obviously you felt a need to tell her that your daughter is as crazy as Mozart and needs some kind of miracle worker to bring her out of the cuckoo's nest." I snap and it's a good thing we're at a red light now, because my mom looks right over at me, jaw dropped and I'm glaring up at her. Who on earth has my mother turned into in the past three months? I am constantly nostalgic for the woman I used to know. I wish she were here.

"I'm working two jobs for you. I'm taking you to these sessions to help treat you for the depression you had and now these hallucinations. Don't you think you're being a little ungrateful?" She asks.

"You're trying to take me from the only thing in this world that makes me happy. I think I have a right to be ungrateful." It's silent for almost ten minutes, until we pull into the parking lot of Doctor Madden's office. Then, she finally speaks.

"I'm trying to help you. I did all I could for you when Gabe died, but I'm in over my head. If you would just cooperate with Doctor Madden and get treated, everything would be fine again. I want my little girl back, but right now, unfortunately, she's lost somewhere in what you've become."

I can't even believe it. This is my fault? It's not, I didn't do anything wrong! I want to tell her, I'm sorry that my best friend died, next time, I'll try not to walk in traffic when someone I care about is around me. I want to tell her that I'm not ever going to cooperate with Doctor Madden because I don't want to become her messed up version of better where I'm a sobbing mess and I hide in my room, needing help to lift my head because Gabe is no longer in my life. She thinks she's done all she can, but if she were really trying, if she really cared about me, she'd just be happy that he's back with me, she'd just let me have him and let us be together and just be happy that her daughter doesn't fall apart at the mention of the word "car". I want to tell her that there isn't a thing in this world that she can do to make Gabe go away, he's back with me and he's staying that way. I want to tell her that her "little girl" is long lost, she can want her all she wants but when Gabe died, so did she, and she can't come back! No matter how bad anyone wants her to, no matter how bad anyone wants light breezy times when they could deny their best friend's advances because of their own stupid feelings, they can't come back. They never can and they never will and you just have to deal with how broken and terrible life is and you have to cling to that one good thing in your life no matter how bad the world wants to make it go away and—

I get lost in my head and all of my biting, terrible remarks die in my throat as I slam the car door shut and run into the office, feeling one of my headaches start to come on.

No, not headache, headache is a bad word to describe them. They're a…beat. It's this loud beat that starts in the very center of your head, soft and slow at first, but it's like some sort of horror movie monster, the music lets you know it's coming to kill you, but you can't do anything other than sit and wait for it to rip you apart. Each time it beats, it becomes faster, harder, louder until it's as loud and heavy as a cannon fire, but moving as rapidly as the firing of a machine gun. It spreads with each beat, tearing its way out from the center of your head until it's threatening to burst your skull open, pounding behind your eyes, your forehead, your temples. Light becomes a blinding ray that sets your eyes on fire and sound is deafening to the point where you wish you would lose your hearing. It sounds like a migraine, or a hangover, but really, it's worse. Because instead of feeling groggy or ill, with this beat, your thoughts are moving too swiftly for you to catch, all of them shooting out at one thousand miles and hour, moving with the beat, pounding at the inside of your head, trying desperately to break out until your mind becomes nothing more than the aftermath of an explosion.

I stumble into the lobby, looking up, beyond surprised at what first catches my eye. "Gabriel?" I say his full name because leaving even one syllable out might stop this from being real. It doesn't even make sense for him to be here. He's always there for me when I need him, like now, but he hates Doctor Madden so much for trying to tear us apart so why would he be here? He rarely comes to these sessions with me, maybe once or twice in the three months that I've been coming here. My heart beats like a hammer in my chest and he looks up at me, taking a step in my direction. But there is no time for him to comfort me, none at all because it's my time to go into Doctor Madden's office. I barely even made it here on time. So, I grab his arm, giving him the most pleading look I can, which really isn't hard, because I need him so much right now it hurts, and he follows me in to my psychologist's office.

Doctor Madden sits on one of those spinning office chairs, the clipboard where he scribbles down notes about me in his hand. Some days I think I'd like to see that clipboard, but most of the time, I know there's nothing that I'd like to read on there so it'd be a bad idea. Today is one of those days when morbid curiosity gets the best of me, but I don't feel strong enough to even say more than one or two words.

"Good afternoon." Doctor Madden greets me, looking up at me from his clipboard, and I know I'm supposed to go sit down on the couch in his office right now, but I can barely move away from the door. I nip at my lower lip, not quite sure how to move anymore and I look up at Gabe, but he doesn't seem too interested in getting me any further into the office. I take a step for myself, and it's shaky and I almost fall over, but somehow, I manage to get to the couch and I sit down, curling my knees to my chest. "Is everything alright?" Doctor Madden asks, and I know the answer coming out is inevitable. I cooperate, I'm a good patient most of the time, I answer his questions, and when he asks me about Gabe, I don't hold anything back, because I need to talk to _someone _about my best friend, but that's as far as I go. I'm usually strong enough to tone him out when he talks about treatment or tries to convince me to let go of Gabe, but today, I am barely strong enough to stand on my own two feet. So I decide to tell him.

"I fought with my mom." Maybe after I explain, he'll start to realize that I'm not the messed up one, that it's my mother who is traumatizing me, making my life worse. Maybe he'll realize I'm better off with Gabe in my life and that no one should interfere and then I'll be done with all of these sessions.

"About what?" He asks, and he's always got this tone to his voice that makes it sound like he's genuinely interested, but this disturbs me, for some reason. Gabe is the only one who has ever listened to me so intently, and at least then, I know he's not dissecting my behavior. It feels like every single one of my actions has some sort of underlying meaning with Doctor Madden.

"What we always fight about, Gabe. These sessions. And now, apparently, I'm just letting her down because I can't be the person that I was before Gabe died." I say and repeating the argument makes my head hurt more. By now, Gabe has taken a seat next to me though, so I lean my head against his shoulder, trying to block the pain out. It's not going well. Doctor Madden scribbles something down on the clipboard and Gabe turns to me.

"You'd think by now he'd have finally just written down that you don't want to get rid of me, there's nothing he can do to change you and its best just to let you be." He says and although my eyebrows are drawn together and everything hurts to look at, I try to give him a small smile, because I know how awful it is for him to have to be stuck here.

"I see," Doctor Madden begins. "Now, you fought with her about the sessions. Do you feel that they're not helping or that there's something we could do to improve them?" He asks.

"Yeah, we could stop having them. You could tell her mom that enough is enough and these are hurting her more than helping her." Gabe says in this cold, hateful tone that he's never used with me before and it's almost frightening, but I know he's trying to protect me.

"I just don't want to be here. I don't need treatment, I just need Gabe. I'm happy when I'm with him, I don't want to give him up." I tell him and he looks at me a moment, nodding.

"Even though your relationship with your family has been increasingly more strained since seeing him?" I wince, partly from the throbbing in my head, partly from what Doctor Madden said.

"I haven't been close with them since Gabe died." I say although my argument sounds weak, even to me.

"Has the distance increased though?" He asks and the obvious answer makes me feel nauseated. Yes, yes it has, it's increased so much that sometimes I wonder if I can even stand to live with these people, if I wouldn't be better off running away again, and maybe this time finding a better hiding place than Gabe's tombstone. Being with them makes me feel ill, and on the few nights a week that we actually sit down as a family for dinner, I usually have to leave after five minutes because my head is pounding so hard. It only hurts when I'm there. I don't belong there. And because we're not close anymore, it shouldn't hurt, but it does.

It hurts twice as much because I used to actually like my family and now I can relate to them so little, it's like we're two entirely different species'. I feel like an outsider in my own home. I tighten my hold on my knees, digging my nails into my calves as my muscles tighten. I clench my jaw, trying to bite off the almost intolerable pain in my head, I don't want to talk about this and I quickly jump away from the topic even though I know it's one that he wants to address.

"But with Gabe, I don't hurt anymore. I wake up in the morning and I don't wish that the car would have hit me instead of him. When he's with me, I feel happy again and I know you weren't treating me before I could see him, but if you were, you'd know this is a good thing." I insist but this doesn't seem to sway Doctor Madden at all.

"Depression is a hard thing to get through, but the delusions aren't a significant improvement. It's a very good thing that you're feeling happier, but our goal is to bring some stability to your life." He tells me and Gabe tightens his arm around me.

"Don't listen to him, things are perfectly stable, I'm not leaving you, you're not leaving me." Gabe tells me and I bring myself closer to him, letting him wrap both arms around me while I have both of my arms wrapped around my legs.

"Now, the best way for us to work around these delusions, is to figure out what triggers them. Can you think of anything that caused the most recent hallucination?" I hate when he uses that word, hate it so much, it's like saying Gabe's not here and he _is_. He's right next to me, and I feel him grow more and more tense whenever Doctor Madden speaks and I pinch my eyes shut, wishing I could hide, wishing I cold disappear.

"I…I don't know. He's just there for me when I need him…" I want to try to tell him that it's not like I go into some fit of insanity and throw shit down the stairs and freak out at stores and Gabe's just there encouraging it all! Gabe's not an antagonist! But once again, I find that the words won't come out of my mouth, even if I can plan them out in my head. I think something up but it's like my brain and my mouth disconnect so all that comes out is some sort of indecipherable jumble. Today, it's worse, much worse, as are the pangs in my head and I close my eyes, bringing my head down to Gabe's chest, trying to hide my face there, trying to fight off the rest of the world. He sets a hand on the back of my head.

"I'm here." He whispers and I cling tightly to him, trying to hide but the pain is so terrible I feel like I'm going to black out. I wish I would, I wish I could just pass out and never have to feel again, it's agonizing, those thoughts that were pounding against my head, beating their way out are now covered in razor blades and the burning light contains shards of glass and the sound is filled with poison and I feel like I'm going to die. I wish I could.

"Are you alright?" I hear Doctor Madden scribbling more on the clipboard, but I can't see him, my eyes are pinched too tightly and if it were up to me, I'd never open them again.

"I…It's one of my headaches. I get them whenever I'm upset." My voice sounds squeaky and weak like a child hiding out from monsters. Gabe's arms are so tight around me, it's like he's trying to suck me into a world where we can be free.

"Headaches?"

"They're like migraines, but worse. My thoughts go all over the place…" I choke out. "Can't really talk." I whisper, and now my hands move away from my legs and to my head and I clamp them down over it, because I feel if I don't hold on tighter, my head will burst. It is a cage and my thoughts will do anything to fight their way out. There his pen is again, has it always been so loud? It feels like he's slamming it against the clipboard and the movement of the pen across the paper is nails on the chalkboard and I want to scream to release some of the pressure, but I'm sure the screams will only make my head throb more.

"You've never mentioned these." He says and I don't even have anything to say to this right now, it's all I can do to keep myself from exploding.

"Not important." I get out.

"They are though; actually, this is the final piece of the puzzle we've been trying to put together. I think with this new symptom, we can finally diagnose you." His words cut through my skull, but the thoughts are still begging to get out. I clamp my hands tighter, to the point where it hurts my head, but it feels like nothing compared to the throbbing inside of my head.

"Di-diagnosis?" I whimper, turning to look at him a bit, but Gabe pulls me back to him and I close my eyes, not fighting it. I brace myself for Doctor Madden's next words.

"Paranoid Schizophrenia."

But no amount of bracing myself could have prepared me for that. Paranoid Schizophrenia. No. No. No. No. I take a deep breath and another and another until I think the amount of oxygen I take in will make me pass out and then I stop breathing until I start to get dizzy and this cycle just repeats itself with no signs of stopping. I don't know how much time passes until it does, I just know that Gabe is holding onto me as tightly as he can.

"This is wrong. He's wrong." He keeps telling me that and I don't know what to think, I can't even come up with a proper sentence in my mind now, all I know is that my head is going to kill me and that I can't be here, I can't live with this.

"I know, it sounds scary. But there are very efficient ways of treating it now, and since your eighteenth birthday is less than six months away, we should be able to prescribe you the proper medicine for treatment."

"Medicine?" Mine and Gabe's voices at the same time, he's holding me so tightly now and he's actually shaking and I feel like screaming, or crying, maybe both.

"Risperdal is effective in most cases." He says, but that means nothing to me, I don't even know what Risperdal is, all I know is that he's trying to pry Gabe and I apart and he thinks Gabe's some kind of hallucination and…what if this medicine gets rid of Gabe? I can't think about that, my thoughts quickly jump away from that and I shake my head. "We'd just need your parents consent, because you're a minor." He informs me.

"Exactly! You're a minor! Does he even know the risks, you're not eighteen yet, you're almost there, but that medicine hasn't been approved for_ almost_ adults, has it? And what about the side-effects?" He asks and I look up at Doctor Madden, trying to find the right questions to ask, but all I can manage to do is repeat Gabe.

"But…side-effects?" I get out.

"Are minimal. Most patients experience very few extremely negative side-effects." He tells me.

"How can you even determine what is extremely negative? What, very few patients die? If you take this, it's going to take everything away from you! Medicine like this, it makes you numb, it takes away everything you are, you can't let him do this!"

"It will do what we want it to. It will get rid of the hallucinations." He says, like it's supposed to mean something but it doesn't until I rework the sentence in my brain. This medicine will get rid of Gabe.

Gabe's reaction is much faster than mine, his hands tighten around me to the point where they hurt, but he releases me very quickly after that, drawing away from me and I recoil in on myself, trying to hide from the pain while I watch Gabe.

"Gabe?" I ask and he shakes his head.

"Gabe?" Doctor Madden repeats.

"I wanted to be here for you, but I can't deal with this, and you shouldn't have to either. He's just trying to tear us apart; you know what life is like when we're not together. But this will be worse, you'll be numb, you'll be dead inside." He bends down so that he's level with me and takes my cheek in his hand. I can't see how anything could be worse than before. I grab Gabe's hand and struggle to meet his eyes through the aching.

"Don't go." I plead and he frowns, his face contorting a bit as he struggles with the idea, but after a moment, he lets go of my hand and walks away.

Everything crumples. It morphs and burns and I turn to where he has just walked out the door and I scream at him

"Gabe! Gabriel! Come back!" I beg. I know, he can't hear me but I need to try, I need to shout, need to beg and scream until my lungs give out. I stand up lunging for the door and out of the corner of my eye, I see Doctor Madden stand up. He calls my name, but I'm too busy hyperventilating and trying to stop myself from bashing my head against a wall to just let some of the pressure out. "He's gone, he left!" I choke and I grab the door knob, I have to get to Gabe and I don't even care that he's probably long gone by now. I just have to go to him!

"Wait. Try to calm down for a moment—" I don't even let him finish his sentence, I pull the door open and run out, letting it slam shut. I run, run out into the parking lot and Gabe isn't there. I feel my stomach lurch, feel like I am about to crack, feel like my head is going to burst open. The tears start to come now and I do the only thing I can, I run into my mother's car.

I slam the door shut again, curling up into myself and my mom's eyes are wide.

"What's wrong?" She asks and I shake my head, hiding my face in my knees.

"Go, just please go!" The words come out louder and more desperately than I could have ever expected and the volume feels like an axe against the pain in my head and I choke on what must be a sob. Thankfully, my mom takes off without questioning me and I cry, weep, sob, wishing that the pain would go away, but it doesn't, it get's worse with every tear and I shake violently. I hate my tears. Before Gabe, I never cried. But I am not longer concerned about breaking. I _am_ broken. In pieces, falling apart, being shredded right there and then, and nothing else in the world exists, just this pain in my head and this diagnosis and everything that's looming ahead of me.

The medicine. Mom will have to stop these sessions with Doctor Madden if she knows about that right?

Despite my body's painful spasms, I manage to bring my head up and I look over at my mom who looks uncomfortable in a way that she never used to around me. It's like she doesn't know how to comfort me any more. But she won't have to, once these sessions stop, it will be just me and Gabe and everything will me good again.

"Mom, he says I'm schizophrenic. He wants me to take medicine." I sob and she looks over at me, pulling into our driveway.

"Doctor Madden said that?" She asks, eyebrows raised and I feel my heart lift a bit, like there's finally hope. I can finally be happy without interference; these sessions are going to stop. I nod, shakily. "He finally diagnosed you?" She asks and I nod again. My mom's face, however, hardens right back up. She parts her lips a little but her eyes narrow in a way that some little voice in the back of my head says is disgust. Or maybe she is shocked? Appalled…Maybe a mix of those? "So that's why you ran out, forty five minutes before your session was done?" She asks and I pause, feeling sick again. She's upset with me? But it was Doctor Madden, he was talking about medicine, I thought she would understand, I thought she didn't want that either, hasn't she told me before that we can't afford it so we have to stick to talk therapy?

"Mom, he wanted me to take some sort of medicine." I say again and she pinches her eyes shut, pulling a hand back through her hair as she sets her head down on the steering wheel.

"Then you could have just come out when your session was done to tell me that, or call me in and then we'd all sit there and talk about it!" She snaps and I pale. No…no, this isn't right. Mom said we couldn't medicate me, this isn't real. Why is she getting so upset with me?

"But…you said we can't put me on medicine…" I whimper and she looks even more upset by the tone of my voice.

"Because he hadn't diagnosed you yet, I wasn't going to let them just experiment with different medicines to see what worked, we didn't have the money for that. As soon as he diagnosed you, if you needed medicine, we were going to find a way to make it happen!" She says, throwing her head back against the chair. "Dammit." She curses and my eyes go wide.

"Mom…"

"No, no this is fine, we'll go back on Friday anyway, we'll increase your sessions, we'll put you on the medicine, we'll get this all sorted out, and everything will be fine again." She says. I want to throw up.

"But the medicine will make Gabe go away!" I cry and her hand tightens up in her hair.

"That's the point! The sooner you stop seeing these things, the sooner we can get you better!" She shouts back and it feels like I have been hit.

"I can't go back there, please!" I beg, and my breathing becomes a lot more labored, it's an effort just to keep air in my lungs. I was breaking before, but at least then, I was on a steady surface. Pieces were falling off everywhere, but I wasn't anywhere near a cliff. Now, the pieces have all come off, everything is broken off and I'm hovering over the edge. No, I'm being pushed over the edge. She can't do this, my mom can't hurt me like this, she wouldn't, no matter how distant we've become, she would never do this, she would never try to destroy me like this.

"Yes you are, we're going to get you better!" She insists and my hands tighten up into firsts. My head still pounds, but between the lurching in my stomach and the pain in my chest, some of the pain has diffused out of my head and moved around to the rest of my body.

"I've _been_ better, Gabe _makes_ me better, mom please don't make me go back!" I scream at her and I watch my mom's face fall. She brings a leg up to her chest, she pinches her eyes shut, like she's fighting off a migraine, like she knows pain. She sits there like that for a moment and I watch until I forget why I'm there and then, I open up the car door, ready to run inside to Gabe and cry until I pass out, but when I finally open the door, mom says something that I would never have expected.

"I don't know what to do with you anymore. I've tried so hard with you, I honestly don't know what you expect me to do. I give up." She whispers.

It's loud enough for me to hear. And somehow, those words change everything. What was once on fire and screaming to be put out, writhing on the floor, trying to kill the flames is now, very slowly, freezing to death. Where there was once an outlet, once the ability to scream and cry, now there is the absence of that. It's all being smothered, cooped up inside of me, eating out all that once filled and threatened to destroy me. But instead of destroying, now it's consuming, taking over, controlling every one of my actions. And it surely controls me. My body moves of its own accord, slamming the door shut. I thought my head was a cage before, and perhaps it was, but now, my entire body is a cage.

I am at a loss for words, for coherent thoughts, for anything, all I know is that my mother, the woman that that spent the past few months fighting, being stupid enough to think that she was helping me, the woman who would have done anything to make my life easier, the woman who fights for her children to the point where it destroys her, the woman who never gives up, has given up on me.

This is a new kind of devastation.

It's not having your best friend die, but being told you are dead. It's not physical violence, but humiliation. It's not breaking a bone; it's having an organ burst. It settles so much deeper inside of me than anything pain I have felt since Gabe's death. But it doesn't crush me under its weight, rather it makes me hold it up, and struggle and endure with no hope of ever getting this weight lifted off of me even though it's almost enough to kill me.

I come closer and closer to suffocation with each step I take up the stairs, each step across the floor, each step that brings me closer to my room and when I'm finally there, I shut the door and sink against it. I don't feel terrible, I feel worthless.

Gabe is in my room, but the joy that always comes from seeing him does not flood me, doesn't even wash over me. All I can do is stare up at him. Tears are still falling down my face but I can't feel them anymore, I just know that my vision is almost completely obscured by them. Gabe moves over to me, crouching down next to where my body has fallen like that of rag doll and he touches my face with his hand, moving it to look up at him.

"She's done. She's done with me; she's given up on me. I am nothing." The words spill out my mouth, my muscles have all deteriorated and there is no more mouth control, no more tear duct control. He pulls my body to his and he moves me as easily as he could a piece of cloth. I slump over into his arms, and I want to put mine around him, want to cling to him for dear life, but my body is incapable of clinging, of tightness, of anything that will anchor me to the world. "I am nothing to her, I am dead to her." Each word makes my voice sound more and more like a stranger's.

"I'm here, I always will be." He promises me and some sort of sharp, desperate pain shoots across me for just a second, like something is pulsing across me before the cold ache settles back in, much deeper.

"I'm gone. I'm nothing." Not only does my voice sound more foreign to me, it sounds more distant, quieter than before. Like it's dying, fading.

I am dying, fading.

"You're everything to me." Gabe speaks and the pain shoots through me again for a second and that second is all I need to pull my arms tightly around him, cling to him. I watch as my tears fall down the back of his shirt, soaking it. My body feels cold and it shakes and aches and I wonder if I really am freezing to death.

"You're everything to me." I repeat back to him and he draws away, only a little bit and the pain shoots through me again. And then there's this agonizing hopelessness, this feeling that I will never again feel his arms around me, that I will never see him or touch him again. And this feeling lingers, stays in my body no matter how much I want it to leave. It's trapped and the longer it stays there, the stronger it gets.

He comes back though, looking into my eyes with so much pain and intensity and longing that it hurts me. I know what he's doing, he's about to put his lips to mine, he's going to kiss the pain away.

But it doesn't go away, because his lips never meet mine, they pass right through. Like he really is dead, like he really is my hallucination. The worst burning pain attacks my limbs for no more than three seconds and I return to the cold again, but this time, the cold stings and bites and destroys everything there has ever been inside of me. A small, dying sound leaves my mouth and it might be a sob and it might be a scream, but I don't know, it's so distant, so quiet, I can barely make it out. I don't feel like I am part of reality anymore, I'm fading out, barely attached to my body. I wonder if that is how he feels. He takes my hand into both of his, surrounding mine, bringing it to his heart where I feel nothing beating.

"You're not dead, not anymore." I whisper, blinking past my tears. I can't lose sight of his face, I won't.

"But I am." His voice is just as low as mine and I shake my head, panting, trying very hard to breathe, but it's so difficult to. So difficult to want to.

"You can't be. I need you here; I need you to make the pain go away." I plead. "I just want the pain to go away…" I whimper and he looks at me, brow coming together like he wants so badly to take care of me but can't think of how to. But he's trying, I see the shifting in his expression once an idea comes to him.

"You want the pain to go away?" He asks and I nod, pathetically. That's all I want. No, that's not it.

"And I want to be with you, I don't want to leave you again." I tell him. He nods.

"Do you trust me?" He asks and I nod, not even taking a second to think. He is the only thing in this world I trust, the only person that will not hurt me. He rises for a minute just to pull my bag of toiletries off of my nightstand. He unzips the bag and pulls out the razor from inside of it, while he touches my face with the other hand. "Death doesn't hurt. It's painless, it's easy. Nothing hurts there. There is no more Doctor Madden, no more parents, no more siblings. All of the pain just goes away." He tells me and I look up at him, not quite understanding what he's saying, all I know is that he must be trying to help me, he must be trying to take the pain away. I nod, dumbly, touching his chest for a moment.

"Nothing hurts?" I ask and he shakes his head.

"Nothing at all. And we can be together. Forever. I'll never have to leave you, no one can make that happen." He swears, stroking my cheek. I sit there, limply as he takes my forearm in his hands, setting his lips softly down on my wrist and then stroking the skin there. And I don't know what he's doing until I see him lift the razor. My eyes widen, but all I can do is watch as he brings it down onto my wrist, hard. He drags it across my skin and he's wrong, it _hurts. It stings. _I wince and he holds my arm tighter.

"We'll go together." He whispers. "We'll be free." He promises and I pinch my eyes tight, letting him drag the razor across my arm again and again and again. I open my eyes for a moment and I watch as the blood falls down my arm, spilling out of it and onto my socks. Clean white socks with blue, yellow, green, pink and orange stripes in them. I let him take the razor across my other wrist, again, and again, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it burns, no matter how sick the sight of blood makes me.

Because he says there's no pain in this world that he's promised me. I close my eyes and he sets his lips against my forehead.

"Good girl. Just close your eyes, slip into it." He breathes and all of that nausea turns into wooziness and dizziness, I open an eye and my bedroom looks so hazy. My arms sting, they burn, they cut into me like that razor did and it hurts so bad, but as I fade out, they hurt less. Gabe tells me not to fight it so I don't, I let the numbness and the blackness take over me.

I open my eyes one last time to find him standing in front of me, arm stretched out, hand right near mine. "Come with me."

I do.

And then everything is black.


	4. Chapter 4

Check me out, updating like a fiend. Long deserved update, seriously.

More to come tonight.

As always, review and enjoy.

xoxo

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><p>4.<p>

I wake up to a white room. It reminds me of the walls of Doctor Madden's office. It reminds me of my guidance counselor's office. Like it's supposed to be calming. But it's too bright, it's blinding and my eyelids are so heavy. Something wants to drag me under. Somewhere in my head, a voice tells me not to fight it. I don't quite know whose voice it is, but I know that I'm not going to listen to it. Whatever it is that wants to drag me under is in my veins and it's heavy, and it doesn't want to let go. It tries to pull me back down, tries to make me shut my eyes and just give up and fade away. But I don't want to. I don't know exactly where I am and despite my extreme grogginess, there's a so much curiosity and confusion building up inside of me. Where am I? What am I doing here? Why don't I know this place? Why did I come here? I can't remember anything, my brain is still being pulled under, it's still too lost in the fog. I can't even make out any distinct shapes yet. I have no clue of where I'm going or of where I've been. Life has never been this hazy before. Maybe I should listen to the voice; maybe I should just give in and fall back into the warm, heavy arms of the substance in my veins. What's the worst that can happen? Maybe the confusion will cease, maybe everything will be peaceful, there won't be anymore struggling, there won't be anymore pain. If I just fade out, the brightness of the room will stop resembling the headaches I get. Is it one of my headaches? Is my mind that clear? I don't know, I don't think so, but I do know for sure that everything is_ becoming _clearer. I get a little bit of control in my muscles, I open and close my hand, I take a long breath, I try to move.

And then a sharp pain shoots across my arms, it's burning, and stinging, someone has poured acid on it. That rush of pain is all I need to bring me back to reality, to clear my memories, to shake me from my dreams and wake me to what's real.

But I can't believe it's real. That cannot have happened. No, that was a nightmare, a terrible nightmare; I will wake in my bed, and it will be Wednesday morning again and nothing will have happened. But the screaming wounds in my arm tell me otherwise. They tell me that everything that floods through my brain is correct, that everything has changed, that the world as I know it has now ceased to exist. My stomach lurches as well, I am sure I will be sick, but nothing comes up. Perhaps that is a good thing, I am not sure how long I've been out but it's been a while since I've eaten anything, probably. The nausea doesn't leave though, not for a very long time and although my eyes are open wide, I can't bring myself to look away from the ceiling, to move, to speak, to do any of those things I wanted to earlier.

And that's when the hyperventilation begins. The panic sets in, and I feel like I'm going to scream, I wish I could, but my chest is too tight. I hear movement and I bolt up, eyes darting around the room, not really seeing anything until my eyes land on the source of the movement. My mother. She's in a chair next to this bed I'm in and she's sobbing uncontrollably, and I've seen my mom cry before, but I have never seen anything this bad. It doesn't even seem possible that someone this strong could break like this. And because of me. It was my fault, it was all me, I did this. How could I? How could I do this to my mom? No matter what happened between us, I know that if my mom had truly given up on me, she wouldn't be in here crying. If she really meant what she said and hadn't just been lost and desperate, the way I was, she wouldn't even be in this room right now.

"Mom." I choke out and I try to move again, but I can't, something is holding me back and it's not the thing in my veins, that's nearly gone now. I try again and I look down and it's some kind of restraining device. My breathing gets worse and I feel my heart slamming against my chest. Somewhere, some beeping noise goes crazy, and it takes me too long to realize it's a machine I'm hooked up to. Too long, because once I realize it, there are already people in the room, and I beg them to set me free, because I need to see my mom, I need to go to her and tell her I'm sorry, but they don't listen no matter how loud I scream. One of them jabs something into my arm and within a matter of seconds, that heaviness sets back in my veins and this time, it's too strong for me to resist.

My thoughts are clear in this black, endless night though. No matter how deep I am pulled under, no matter how much I feel I'm drowning, everything is lucid.

Everything has changed. Everything I have ever known was a lie. And the person I loved the most is dead. Gone. Forever. I know this because Gabe, my Gabe, the real Gabe is a lot of things, he can be manipulative and greedy and try to steal every second of your time away so that he can get more of you, but he's not a bad person, he's an amazing person, he's charming and smart and he'd never try to hurt someone he cared for. He'd never hurt me. And this _thing_, this Gabe I've been seeing, well he looks and smells and talks like my Gabe, but the pain in my arms is the only thing I need to know that he's not. Because my Gabriel would never have asked me to kill myself. My Gabriel would never have helped me do it.

No, the Gabe I knew got irritated with Romeo and Juliet. The Gabe I knew turned to me the day we stopped reading the play and said that he hated the story because of the ending. He told me that Romeo and Juliet were completely they were impossible to relate to and that their actions in the end were the worst choices they could have ever made because suicide was not an option. He told me that you can't stop living after someone you love does. That clouds and rain and pain happen, but when that's done, there will be light and that no matter what, you have to stick it out and wait for the light to shine.

And in my pain and my despair and my hurt, I followed something terrible that my mind had conjured up, just because it looked like him. Maybe Doctor Madden was right. Maybe I am crazy. Surely, I am not stable. A stable person would have grieved her best friend and moved on, not sat there and watched and accepted it while he cut her wrists open. Again, my stomach knots up and the thought of the blood and the stinging of the wounds makes me want to vomit. I think that perhaps I should cry, but I tell myself not to. I tell myself that things have to change; I tell myself that I have to go back to before; I have to become the person that never cried, no matter what. I have to get strong, I have to get better. For everyone in my life.

I come in and out of reality for a few seconds. Nothing is as clear as that first time though. I hear voices, mom's, dad's, Doctor Madden's. I recognize those, but they sound upset. I can't tell why. Maybe I'm hallucinating them now. Maybe there is no hope for me. Maybe I've lost everything.

I wake up again, for real, and I don't know what day it is, or what time, because the blinds in my room are closed and it turns out, the white is just more of a dingy grey. I think I was right to believe that Doctor Madden and my mom were there, because when I come around, I see both of them, sitting in the chairs beside my bed. Out of the corner of my eye, there is a flash of something and I know what that something is and I feel ill. I want to go back under, I don't want to feel anything anymore. I don't want to see anything, most of all, I don't want to see _that_. Because that _thing_ is not my best friend. I look away, down to my feet where I see that a clean pair of socks has been put on. My socks, purple plaid socks. My mom must have done this sometime while I was out, after all my other ones were…probably stained with blood. Again, my stomach churns. I look over to where mom and Doctor Madden are sitting, but I stay lying down.

"Mom…" I say again and they both turn over to look at me, my mom's face flooding with relief at first, then anxiousness. To my surprise, Doctor Madden's brow is furrowed, he looks concerned, apparently, he actually cares. My mom rushes over to me and I'm not being held down by anything anymore, so when she comes over to me, I grab her hand. "Mama." I haven't called her that since I was maybe seven years old, but right now, I feel like a child, lost and scared and completely hollowed out. I'm not sure there is anything left in me anymore. No, there's something left, something that my hallucination placed inside of me, just some sort of resonance that keeps him there, keeps him in control. I feel like a puppet and now, no matter how much I struggle to get free, the strings stay in tact.

"Oh my God, you're okay." She whispers. "I…when I found you in your room, I just…I didn't mean for things to get out of hand, I never meant for you to hurt yourself, I just didn't know what to do for you, and when I saw you there…I was so scared I lost you and…" I throw my arms around my mother, hugging her tightly, pinching my eyes shut.

"Mommy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I say between each heavy breath, because the hyperventilation has started up a little bit again, but not as bad as it was before. I'm shaking again too, which feels weird; I haven't had this sort of tremor in months. Somehow, the familiarity just leaves me feeling even hollower than before.

"I thought I lost you, I was so scared that you'd lost too much blood by time I got to the phone…" She says and I hear the tears in her voice too and I know she's crying so I hug her tighter.

"I won't do it ever again, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." It sounds so weak and so stupid and it sounds like some child is apologizing for running away at the mall and scaring their mom. But it's all I can think of to say, I don't know how to tell her everything I've felt, I don't know if I can handle that or if she can handle that, so I just leave it there and let her hug me.

"Touching, very touching." I wince at the voice because it sounds so much like my Gabe's. But it's not, I try to tell myself. It's not him, it never will be, it can't be. "I thought she gave up on you." I want to shout at him, to tell him that my mom wouldn't give up on me, she might want to sometimes, but after that, after I broke her heart like that, there's no way she could sit there and say she didn't care. "But that was smart of you to tell her you wouldn't try again, she'll never expect it now. I'm sorry I let you down, I'm sorry it didn't work. But we'll try again and this time, nothing is going to get in the way, this time we really can be free." I feel my stomach clench and then drop and I release my mom and after a minute, she finally lets me go. I realize too late that I don't want her to go. I sit and I curl myself into a ball and I hold on tightly, wishing that he hadn't told me that, wishing that I don't look as pale as I feel, wishing that these chills that have now raked down my spine will go away. No, no, no, no I will not let him. I tell myself this over and over again in my head until my mom sits down and I remember, finally, that Doctor Madden is in the room. I have never been so happy to see my psychologist.

"Good…afternoon." He says to me, checking the time on his watch, giving me a small smile that looks like it's supposed to be comforting and I give a small smile back. It feels like I'm watching someone tip toe across broken glass. I'm sure he knows by now how fragile I am. If he didn't already know. I doubt anyone knew how hard I'd crash. I didn't even know. I also don't know what to say. I'm sure he does, or at least, he has something he needs to say, otherwise he wouldn't be here, right? Then again, he's my psychologist, maybe he's supposed to be here in this sort of situation?

"Are you here about the Risperdal?" I ask, because I really hope he is and I hear Gabe snort.

"He probably is still on that kick. Hasn't he figured it out yet? I'm not going anywhere, and you don't want to leave me, nothing he does is going to change that, nothing anyone does is going to change that." I feel his hand on my shoulder and I want to run. I want to leave, go anywhere, do anything to get away from him. I can't be here with him, can't feel him, can't keep him anywhere near me. Because I still feel his power, that touch still turns me into putty in his hands and that sickens me.

"Among other things."

"I want to get better." I tell him.

Silence.

From my mother, from my doctor, and most surprisingly, from Gabe. I take a very deep breath which breaks the silence, but the air clears my head, and right now, my nerves are going crazy, thanks to the eerie quiet.

"You want to get better?" Doctor Madden asks and I nod, shakily.

"What?" Gabe's voice again, I curl in tighter around myself.

"It's gotten too far…he's gotten too far, I need this to stop." I say, and my voice is quiet, and a little bit shaky, but I mean every word of it and I hope everyone knows that. Doctor Madden looks shocked, to say the least. I understand, my decision even shocks me. But I know I have to make it, I know I have to leave this person behind, I know what I have to do. I know that no matter how much I care for Gabe, no matter how much I burn and ache and desperately need him every single second of my life, I have to let go, if for no one else, then for him. For the real him, not for this person I've been seeing and clinging to and loving and kissing for the past three months. That person was a quick fix, something to cover up the pain while it eroded me and got worse. I need to heal now before everything really has turned to dirt. Before it's too late.

"No." Gabe's voice is a whisper and he slides his hand down my arm, moving his hand into mine. I clench down on my jaw, trying to find the strength to move. Why does he have to be here? Why can't he leave, why can't he let me go and move on and just try to stand on my own two legs without him? The thought is scary enough without him holding on. "That's a bad idea." He whispers. "I'll be gone forever."

"I just want this to end." I whisper, looking down at my arms. "You can put me one whatever treatment you want, but if we get rid of Gabe, we'll get rid of everything else. He was the one who…" I can't finish my sentence, my throat tightens and I pinch my eyes shut for a second. "I just need this to stop." I say, finally opening my eyes. After a moment, Doctor Madden nods.

"Alright, alright, if you're serious about this, we can really start treating you." He says and I nod. "And we have your consent?" He asks my mom and she nods and I see she's still crying a little bit, but she's smiling now too, looking over at me and I smile back. I'll make things better for her, at the very least.

"Of course, we'll do anything to get her well again."

"No!" I hear Gabe plead, and he wraps his arms around me from behind, pulling me tight against him and I have to pinch my eyes shut again, I wish I could hide or disappear. I wish he would let go.

"Is everything alright?" Doctor Madden asks and I nod, very tensely, keeping my eyes pinched shut.

"Yes…or at least, it will be." I murmur, pulling away from Gabe. It's an effort in itself, just the thought of getting myself away from him but it's twice as hard when he's holding me so tightly. When I sit there and remember how the Gabe I knew would put his arm around me or take my hand. I want to cry again but I hold it in, balling my hands tightly instead.

I have to let go, I need to push past this, I need to leave him behind. I need to, but there's still this ache in me when I think about doing that. How could I do that? Why would I do that? My arms are burning again. I have to do this.

"Alright, then I'll have them fill a prescription for you right away, and we'll bump the sessions to four times a week, is that alright?" He asks and I nod, again, still shaking. "This is a good sign." Doctor Madden says, mostly to my mom. "Now that you want treatment, we can start making some real progress. This is a big step in the right direction." He says to me and I smile a bit.

"Thank you Doctor Madden." I say and he nods as he stands up to walk away. My mom stands up too, brow furrowed, timid smile on her face. I know she's at a loss for words when she comes over to me and hugs me again, even though this hug is much shorter.

"You really want to get better?" She asks and I nod without hesitation, not just because my resolve is strong, but because I need Gabe to know that nothing he can do will change my mind. "Alright, I'm going to go talk to your siblings now, they're outside, getting some air, but I'll be back." She promises, kissing my forehead as she goes to walk out. "Is there anything you need?" She asks and I shake my head, and after that she's gone.

"Why?" His voice is right next to me and I turn away, looking over at the pillow on the hospital bed, fussing with it. "Don't do this to me." He whispers and my chest tightens up. There is so much pain and pleading in his voice and it's my Gabe's voice, so I can't help but turn to look at him. And it's such a mistake.

They have the same face, down to every last detail, this Gabe and my Gabe and I feel my willpower crumble when I look into his eyes, feel my resolve shatter completely, as though I had never made the decision in the first place. I reach over, touching his cheek and he sets a hand on top of mine, slowly, very gently moving in to set his lips against mine. And nothing hurts and everything is perfect. And he's Gabe, how could I ever think that he wasn't my Gabe? I set my arms around him, perhaps a bit too carelessly, because the inside of my forearm hits his back. I have to rip myself away because so much pain shoots up my arm. No, no I can't do this, no matter what I want to think, this isn't the Gabe I know. No matter how much I want to promise myself to this thing that reminds me of him, I know I can't. I turn away, grabbing the pillow holding it close to my chest. I can't look at him again. I didn't realize how hard it would be, how completely destructive it would be to look at him. To look into the eyes of the person I care for more than anything else in the world and know I have to get rid of him.

"No." I whisper, pinching my eyes shut. "No, can't you just leave me alone?" I ask, digging my nails into the pillow case.

"You wouldn't want that." He tells me, tucking some of my hair behind my ear, and I yank my head away, hiding it in the pillow.

"Yes I would." I whisper. He pauses for a moment next to me, but it's not an unsure or wavering sort of pause, it's a very deliberate pause, the kind that I want to watch unfold, because all of his actions are always so meaningful, they always unfold into something so grand, but I chomp on my lower lip as I remind myself I cannot, absolutely cannot look over at him, because that would be the end of everything. I've already lost my resolve once today thanks to him; I'm not sure how much could be restored if I lose it twice.

Finally, he runs a hand back through my hair, pushing some that has fallen into my face back behind my shoulder and he very lightly, very gently kisses my hair. His hand sits on the back of my neck and slides down my arm.

"Alright. You're upset, you're confused, I understand. I won't push you now, not when you're this fragile. Don't give up just yet though. I'll be back, I promise. No matter what they say, no matter how much doubt they put in your mind, I'll never leave you. They can't tame me. I know how to play their games very well." He pulls away from me, I feel him get off the bed, I hear his footsteps fading out. But I never feel him leave me.

His presence stays in the room. And I fear it will never leave.


	5. Chapter 5

This is when Taking a Leap comes full circle with A Series of Jumps.

Still more to come. This is only the story's half way point.

This one is actually beta'd.

Read, review.

xoxo

I own nothing as usual

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><p>5.<p>

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I know the voice, would know it anywhere, could pick it out of a crowd, but still, I look up to acknowledge him. Even though I shouldn't.

One last time.

I weigh the tiny objects in my hand, looking carefully over them. Purple, sleek, easy to take. His shirt is the same color.

"What else am I supposed to do?" Same old dance. He makes a decision about my actions and if he doesn't like them, he drives me to questioning it myself, no matter how strong my resolve is. He's too charming that way, too sly and I am too easy to manipulate because I already care too much about what he thinks. He thinks he will win. But not this time. My family and I are hurting, they need me to do this. "Yes Gabe, I'm going to take these." I murmur, almost ashamed to admit it. Almost afraid to hurt him. He's upset, I know, but he's not furious. I don't expect him to be. Gabriel Goodman does not get mad. He gets even.

"Why" His voice is so soft, barely above a whisper and I dread looking up into his eyes, so instead, I keep looking down at the tiny purple objects in my hand. I can imagine his expression thought, which is bad enough. Brow furrowed, lips slightly parted, eyes hurt because of how unfair I'm being. I_ am_ unfair. How could I hurt him?

"Because I need these." I say simply and I watch as his hand makes it's way over to mine, watch as his fingers curl around mine and close it into a fist, hiding the purple objects.

"Don't." He insists in such a smooth tone, like he is positive that this is the right decision and I dart my eyes down to our feet, mine covered by neon polka-dotted socks, his by sneakers. He never liked taking off his shoes inside of the house, even when my mother insisted he take them off inside. Somehow, he always found a way to convince her that such an action was unnecessary.

He is so close, I can rest my head on his shoulder, close my eyes and drift away. I want to. But I can't.

"Stop it." I tell him, although my order is feeble. Less than feeble. Even now, when he is trying to talk me out of saving myself, he still offers more comfort than anything or anyone I have ever known. And it's because I am so addicted to him. It's the way things are with us, he knows how to work me, so instead of mocking my decision or taunting me, he seduces me into making a decision that he deems right. "I need these." I remind him.

"You need me," I don't argue, he's not being cocky, he's being truthful. But his point is moot anyway. "I thought you said you were okay with this."

"I was. Until last time. When mom found out. And then my sister and brother and dad. We can't go through that again, I can't go through that again. The doctor said-"

"Your doctor doesn't know you. Not like I do." He says in this urgent tone that's so convincing, so sure, so right that I am sure he's telling the truth. He has this way of getting me to do what he wants, convincing me that he's never wrong. Wrapping me around his finger. "You have to trust me." He insists and for a second, I am hooked, I feel my hand begin to loosen, ready to drop the things to the ground and give up, but I get an eyeful of the angry red scars down my wrists and forearms, and my hand tightens back up.

"Gabe, I'm breaking. I need to take these, they're the only things that make me better." I clench my fist around the pills in my hand. He's got this slight rigidity in his stance that says he's trying to help me but I'm being nothing but a petulant child. And I feel that way now: immature and stupid because I care about his opinion. Too much. But really, I can't help it, he's impossible not to love.

"There are other ways," he promises as his hand slides up the inside of my forearm, up my arm, my shoulder, my neck, pushing my hair aside. I pinch my eyes shut because this isn't helping. I want nothing more now than to rest my head on him. He touches my hair again, and I know he knows everything that's going on inside of my head because I don't just know him well, he knows me too well, knows exactly how to get under my skin.

"Not for this." I breathe, bringing my arm up a bit, ready to put those pills to my lips when he wraps his arms around me and I'm sure my willpower is gone. My head against his chest, his arms around me, my arms pinned to my side. It's like being with a predator who couldn't lure you in and now, and now they have no other choice but to dive straight in for the kill, the one thing they know will end their victim.

"You'll be alright without them." His voice is so promising that I close my eyes and sigh, and just let it be. He's right. He doesn't want to leave and he'll have to if I take them. Why would I ever want him to leave? I move my arms up so that I can wrap them back around him but then, it's like those tiny purple pills now weigh more than I can handle and I know exactly what I have to do, I know that I need to let go of him.

"But I won't." His arms stay around me, tight and solid and warm and everything I know they aren't now, but always used to be. "Gabe, let me go." My voice is small and fading and I'm sure he knows how impossible it is for me to say these words. But he does, very slowly, release me, hands still wrapped around my upper arms and once again, I drop my eyes to our feet because if I look up, I know I will give in and he wins most fights, but this is one I _cannot_ lose.

One of his hands slide down into mine while the other reaches into the purse that I left on my dresser and it's a reflex to yell at him for digging through my things but then I see him pull out the bottle of pills. What is he doing? He's completely thrown me for a loop and upon discovering this I realize I'm shaking. Because whatever it is he's doing with those, unless he's walking to a toilet and dumping them, I did not see it coming, even though I know Gabe like the back of my hand. And Gabe doesn't do unpredictable, not unless he absolutely must. This sort of desperation from his is beyond frightening.

"Gabe…?" My voice is trembling too, which is no good because he's like an animal, he smells fear and pounces and I see victory in his eyes.

"These are a bad idea." He tells me, holding out the bottle in the palm of his hand and usually, those words, him giving his honest opinion, it appeals to much to me because it's so blunt and honest and I love that, but not now, not when his face is morphing into one that tells me he owns me, he can control what I do.

"Gabe, I need them, please, just understand!" I feel a migraine coming on, he's impossible to fight with.

"You want to take them?" He raises his eyebrows. His expression is softening a bit, I'm not looking directly into his eyes, so I'm safe, but his whole face is becoming something closer to the Gabe I'm used to, the Gabe that will be sarcastic and arrogant and mocking, but at the end of the day, he wraps his arms around me and reminds me how important he is to me. I nod. "Then those three won't do the trick. Take the whole bottle, it will be painless, not like last time."

"No!" The scars on my arm seem to tingle with that last mentioning and my throat is tightening the way an anaconda tightens around its prey. "Gabe, I _can't_!"

"Your mom will understand—"

"No, she won't!" I'm crying now and I never cry, I hate crying, even at funerals I can only squeeze out a couple of tears, but now there is a fat, wet drop streaming down my cheek. All of these memories flood back and I can't put my mom through that again, finding me unconscious, having to rush me to the hospital, having to wonder if I'll live or die.

"But we could be—"

"I know! That's not what I want!" I remind him and by now, his hands are deadlocked to my face and the pill bottle is set aside and he's trying to make eye contact, that's the only way he can win this and he wants more than_ anything_ to win. He needs me to need him and I always will, but I need this more.

"You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do!"

"But I thought you—"

"I know what you think that I think! And I know that you know exactly how I feel! But this has to stop!"

"But I'll be…" His voice dies and I know he's trying to make be feel guilty but I can't! And I'm so frustrated, I wish we could just agree with each other and have things back to the way they were again. But something too important has changed. "Why would you do this to me?" Something snaps. Something inside me rips open and pops.

"Because you're dead!" Because you're _not really here._ Because you've _been dead_ for sixteen months. Because I walked into a car and you pushed me away and in doing so you were the one crushed by the car and I got off _without a scratch_. Because you meant _so _much to me and now I'm seeing you _everywhere_ when I _shouldn't_, hearing your voice in my ear, always. Because you convinced me to try to join you and I _ignored_ my aversion to blood and razors for you and my mom found me bleeding out and had to rush me to the hospital and wonder whether or not I would live or die. Because I can't be in the same room as anyone in _my family_ anymore and they can't look at me without thinking of how _pitiful_ and _terrible_ it must be to be me, to see someone who isn't even there and be so attached to them. Because I miss you more than I can handle and I shouldn't. "I shouldn't see you and I do and the doctor said these pills will make you go away and I need that!" I shriek and I can't even believe what I'm saying, but I have to say this and I finally meet his eyes and feel my body break like the fragile porcelain it has become and I do everything I can to stop myself from falling over because I don't want him to catch me.

"You…you won't leave me behind." He whispers and I grit my teeth and look up at him again, and I will risk it. It is only when my icy, shaking hand is raised to my mouth that he reacts, nearly jumping, taking my wrist in his hand. "Please don't, I don't want to leave you." He insists and I don't want him to go either, but it's the only way I can live, can breathe, can move on and not spend my life shouting at phantoms.

"I'm sorry." I choke out and put a hand to my mouth, dry swallowing the pills.

His eyes are so pleading but in a matter of minutes, he is gone.


	6. Chapter 6

And more reviews to come! Again, this is unbeta-ed, so I still hope you enjoy

I own nothing

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><p>6.<p>

It calls for me.

It is too dark to see five inches in front of me, but I know where I am. The landscape is malicious, something out of a horror movie. Dark, twisted, violent, morphed, but it is most definitely a forest. I feel the ground beneath me, unstable, unsafe, not something that anyone should try to walk across, but I run across it, sprint across it, because that is my only way out. This place I am in has the feel of a dungeon, a cell and the voice that calls for me is what traps me in here. It has captured me, it wants so badly to destroy me, I feel its want in every ounce of my being and it makes my blood curdle.

It begs for me.

It whispers in my ear, beckoning me, requesting that I join it. I am chilled to the bone. The voice cuts through me like acid and no matter how fast I run, I can still hear it. Breathing in my ear, keeping up with me easily. The owner of the voice is nearly as fast and surely as dark and twisted. There are times when the ground is so rocky, it's all I can do to move from place to place and in times like those, I can feel the creature's frozen claws glide, light as a feather down my back, making the chill from my veins slide into my spine. The pain is something like a brain freeze when it travels down your back, but a thousand times worse, I fall over, into the dirt, I cry out, I bite down hard on my lip, because I have screamed too loud, and this creature knows it has won. It looks down at me, grinning this wicked, Cheshire Cat grin. That's all I can see of it.

It comes for me.

It reaches down, its claws touch my arm, I can't help the scream that follows. I do the only thing I can think of, and that is roll out of its grasp. I don't get far safely, the second I roll away, the ground breaks beneath me and I fall.

I crash.

I hit the ground, hard. It's not the same sort of terrain I was in before. When my head makes contact with it and I hear a loud cracking noise, I am able to figure out what sort of ground I'm on now. It's granite. Smooth, shiny, hard, and just as black as the night sky from the forest. I feel around, looking for a place to run to, but this place is so small, there's no way to run, I have to crawl. I crawl through the first tunnel I can find, heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my temples, breathing so heavy I think I might be hyperventilating, but really, I'm just trying to catch my breath.

There's no stopping it.

I hear it following me, it doesn't need to make noise but it does so that it can frighten me. It makes noise so that my heart beats loud enough for it to hear me. It is playing this sick, twisted game of cat and mouse, and there's no way I can win. I can't run or move or crawl fast enough, with each breath I take, with each blink or beat of my heart, it gets dangerously closer, within a matter of minutes it will have closed in on me and this time, I doubt I will be able to break the granite and fall into some other world. There's only one thing left that I can do. I hang a left in the tunnel, hoping that my sharp turn will bide me some time. It does, but not enough for me to be able to escape. My turn allows me just enough time to crawl into a dead end, curl up into a ball and hide.

This structure is built like a maze, and I have curled into a place that will lead to nowhere, with any luck, this thing that is hunting me will not realize that I've crawled away into a place that should be a mistake to be in. With any luck, it will keep going to the end of the maze, and I'll have enough time to backtrack and run out, back into the forest and maybe scream for help.

It whispers my name.

It's voice is still acidic, but the acid has been covered with honey, it's such a beautiful poison, it lures me in, slows my body, makes me feel heavy and sluggish, makes me want to walk over to my hunter and just give myself away. My eyelids are being weighed down; my brain is almost entirely wiped clear. My arm is lifted, like I'm in a trance, I reach out for this creature, move forward, out of my hiding spot. Slowly, very gradually, I'm a sliver of an inch out of the tunnel, only my finger tips have come out when the trance washes away as quickly as it came.

It sees me and it lunges.

I back into my hiding place, heart slamming, breath racing, cold sweat broken out across my body. I hear things fall from my lips, I hear myself begging, pleading for the creature not to hurt me. It shushes me, its voice a low hiss. I whimper, biting down hard on my lip. I've lost my dignity already, but I won't die a screaming victim. I'll fight it.

It comes in closer.

I push it back as hard as I can. The legs are the strongest part of any human body so I set my electric blue socked feet against this things chest and push out as hard as I can. It pushes it back a few feet. But not enough to save me. I've only angered it.

It flies at me.

I scream once again, because this time, with the force that it's moving at, it won't tease me, it won't torture me, it will kill me. I back even farther into the wall, hoping I can get away, doing anything I can to avoid my inevitable death.

The wall of the tunnel breaks open and I fall.

The fall is endless.

Black and open and blank, I scream, I wait to hit the ground, I wonder what will happen when I have to run away from this creature again. And I am left to wonder, because I never stop falling in this endless night. Blank, tranquil, cool, open, empty, lonely, desolate, dark, dank, destructive, decaying. I scream but I cannot hear a sound. Everything is rushing at me, everything is moving too fast. Am I moving in slow motion? Am I moving at all? Am I real? Do I exist?

AM I REAL? DO I EXIST?

The words are so loud in my head, my skull breaks open, but I don't feel it, I just watch as pieces of my brain fall to the ground faster than I do.

Sit and watch.

Sit and watch.

Sit and watch.

I bolt upright, screaming. I hear the scream, but no one comes to my rescue. I don't expect anyone to. People did for the first couple of months, but after I told them not to, they stopped. It's not worth it to rouse people from their sleep at night. Especially when this happens every night.

Nightmares. Vivid, gruesome, all too familiar nightmares, and then the returning lack of sensation. The numbness sets in.

My miracle drug is not really a miracle.

The nightmares aren't the worst part of taking Risperdal.

What is, is waking up from them and knowing that I can't even feel the hope, the heat and the fear that I should.

Everything is remarkable, exuberant, austere. But I'm not here.

Suddenly I get the feeling that my skull really is breaking open and all I can do is watch it as I fall in slow motion. But this feeling isn't a dream. This feeling is my constant, never ending reality.

This is how it feels to be cured.


	7. Chapter 7

More still to come!

I own nothing

Read and review, hope you enjoy!

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><p>7.<p>

The world isn't made with up of over achievers and under achievers anymore. The world is made up of people who don't do anything and spend their entire lives getting by with someone else's help and people who do exactly what they're supposed to and nothing more. Of course, these two types of people seem to play very large roles in my life.

I am the one who sits and drains from others. We go two months without internet and completely cancel our satellite dish so that we can afford the Risperdal and increased therapy sessions. Mom feels guilty going to work anymore when I'm home, she seems to think she always has to wait hand and foot on me. To be honest, sometimes I also think that she needs to. My dad works obscene hours and my siblings are still avoiding me at all costs, now more than ever. Most days, I feel like dying. Not killing myself, but simply lying back and drifting into a peaceful slumber that I will never wake from. I don't tell anyone this, not even Doctor Madden, although I tell him everything else. I see him so often now anyway. In some ways, it's like having a friend again, someone to tell all of my secrets to and they'll never tell anyone else. Of course, I know he's not my friend, he's my psychologist, but still, I haven't had a friend in almost two years. I probably never will again. I think its okay for me to pretend that I have one.

The ones that make my pills, my Risperdal, are the ones who do exactly what they're supposed to and nothing more. This medicine is not the magic I thought it would be. It's great, really, it makes my headaches stop completely. My thoughts don't race anymore to the point where I feel like they're trying to burst from my head. My train of thought actually stays on track almost seventy percent of the time, in fact, my thoughts are usually pristine, neat and organized. They don't just make sense to me, they make sense to other people too. I don't tremble anymore, it's gotten rid of all of the crazy. It's gotten rid of Gabe, and that's most important. He's not longer at my side, whispering to me about how we'll always be together or the lengths I should go to, to be with him. He doesn't haunt me anymore. So everything should be good. I should be happy.

But Gabe was right about what these pills do to me. They make me feel hollow, empty. My body was a cage before, too small to contain me and now it is too vast a space for me to live in, a giant, empty shell. Sometimes, I feel like such a barren, desolate wasteland that I don't even feel connected to it. I wake up and sometimes it feels like I'm not even there. All of the color is gone from the world. Everything is a shade of grey. No black, no white, just grey. I think I should feel depressed about it, but I don't. I just feel tired. And nauseous. And light headed. I sleep about twelve hours on school nights and sixteen on weekends, and even then, I still don't feel well rested. Probably because of the dreams. The only time anything vivid or memorable happens is when I'm dreaming.

I am in a world where everything is out of reach, nothing is attainable, there is no pleasure. I am in a world where everything is close enough, the things that I cannot have can be forgotten and there is no pain. I am euphoria and anger, the winter wind and fire. I try to enjoy everything, but I always miss the fun.

The skies are grey when I go to Doctor Madden's office that day. I don't talk during the car ride there, I press my face against the icy, cold window, watching the snow fall down, wondering what it would be like to go outside and feel it. I'm sure I'll find out when I step outside and maybe I'll hate it, but when I'm here, in the car, all I want is to be free.

The session goes the same way it always does. We talk about my feelings (which are mostly bleak), we talk about Gabe (who is still gone), we talk about the medication (which has not caused any of the severe side effects), we talk about my week (which is the same as every other), he offers me up some advice and I wonder if it will be possible to put that into practice.

I walk out and continue my day. Routine, day after day, an assembly line, I put the same part in over and over and over again. Nothing stops but nothing starts.

I hold the little pills in my hand sometimes, wondering if I should flush them. I wonder if getting rid of them will make me feel real again and not just like a blur or a smudge on a page. But, as always, those thoughts end and I put the pills to my lips and wash them down with a cup of water.

November becomes December, December becomes January.

Two months go by and there is almost no change. My sessions with Doctor Madden have been brought back down to three times a week, although he still isn't happy with progress. He tells my mom and I we've come a long way since starting on the Risperdal, but we've reached almost a dead end. He wants to put me on an anti-depressant, but I keep telling him I'm not depressed, and there's not really much anyone can do without my consent.

My siblings still don't talk to me, but they don't run away anymore, the way they did when Gabe was around. My father keeps his distance still. I have become a ghost in my own household. Only my mother seems to want to spend any time with me. Sometimes, I wonder if perhaps I'm just a figment of her imagination. If she's seeing me and no one else can. That scenario seems very familiar to me and when I realize why, I think I should feel nauseous or hyperventilate or start digging my nails into my arms. But I don't, I never do. Nothing ever hurts enough for me to fall victim to what I used to be.

January becomes February, February becomes March.

I sit in Doctor Madden's office with him, feet planted solidly on the floor, hands in my lap, eyes on the ground. He takes notes, although I don't know why, nothing ever changes.

"How was school?" He asks me.

"Fine." I say. It feels like my parents are asking me, I wonder if he will ask what I learned today.

"Was it really fine, or are you just saying that?" I frown a little and look up at the ceiling, wondering if that will offer me the answer, because I don't know it. I lean back a bit into the couch while I close my eyes and shrug.

"I don't really know. It's hard to tell." I open my eyes back up.

"How so?"

"I don't know how I feel anymore, when I wasn't on the medicine, I knew what I was feeling, always or at least, I definitely knew I was feeling something. Now, it just feels like I'm not really happy or sad or even angry. Nothing really even fazes me anymore. It's like…I just sort of exist, I'm not tied down to something, I'm not even real. I'm not here, I'm not there, I'm nowhere." I say, face blank. His brow furrows and he looks up at me.

"Are you feeling increasingly more withdrawn?" He asks me and I shake my head.

"No more so than usual. I told you, I'm not sad or depressed, I'm not suicidal or anything, I just don't feel happy."

"Emptiness like this can often lead to suicidal thoughts. There are medications that you can be put on to treat these symptoms." He tells me and I shake my head again.

"I don't want that, it's fine really. I can live like this, things have been a lot worse." And they have.

"Are you absolutely, one hundred percent positive?" He asks. I nod.

He encourages me to be friendly to my peers, that perhaps I can repair the broken bridges and reconnect with some of the old friends I used to have, or make new ones. I'm not sure I know how to, I'm also not sure that anyone I know would want to be my friend.

March becomes April and before I know it, everything around me starts to change.

But never me, I am the tree that stands, tall and unmovable while the world keeps on spinning.

It all starts on April seventh. I don't have a session with Doctor Madden today so perhaps we will eat dinner as a family today. The thought doesn't excite me, but being around people is better than being alone. Always better than being alone. At least when there are people around I can ignore the feeling that there's a hole growing inside of me.

I get home from school though and there is a note on the refrigerator, a white piece of paper, held up by a magnet version of my first piece of elementary school artwork. In my mom's handwriting is a reminder that my sister is staying after school and my brother is going over to a friend's house today, so I'll be home alone until at least five. It's only three right now. My stomach turns in knots and before I even have a second to think, I pull a pair of sneakers over my grey socks with the teal leopard spots and run out the front door. I don't slow to a walk, which surprises me, my energy surprises me, but I'm sure it's more a survival mechanism than anything. I keep running and I don't stop until I reach the closest crowded place: the library.

I don't know what I plan to do here, I've avoided all literature since Gabe died because everything ever written either has a touching love story, mentions of mental illness or gruesome death and all of those things are sensitive subjects. So, I sit outside on the ground, underneath one of the huge oak trees outside of the library, my back against the tree, my legs thrown out on the ground like they belong to a rag doll and not a human being. I don't make polite conversation with passerby, I don't pull out my phone and pretend to look busy, I don't even think about going inside, I just sit there, waiting for time to pass, watching families of twenty-year old parents and their toddlers walk out with picture books and Barney movies. I watch elderly women walk out, talking about the books they're reading for their book club. I watch groups of pre-teens walk out with their mangas and copies of Vampire novels. I watch teenagers who have probably told their parents they're going to be studying walk up, sit on a bench and pass over plastic baggies of pot before walking away. They don't look lethargic, the way television likes to portray stoners, though. Most of the kids in that group don't actually fit the stereotype I would have expected.

In fact, one of those teenagers, some kid with a baseball cap and a rugby shirt strolls away from his deal, humming and smiling and toying with the new bag of green in the pocket of his too tight skinny jeans. He looks over at me and offers me up a smile and…he's walking in my direction. Maybe he's actually going in to study? He's getting closer. Maybe he's going to climb a tree? Closer? Maybe he's mistaken me for someone else? Closer. Maybe he's generous and wants to offer me pot?

He sits down next to me, grinning that same goofy, easy going grin and turns to me.

"Hey."

"Hey…" I look over at him, bringing my legs close to my chest, sufficiently frightened by his interaction. There's a small pulse in my temple at the new sensation, but it quickly fades away.

People don't talk to me; people are smart enough to stay away. But he's sitting here, making conversation with me like it's the most natural thing in the world. He must be new here.

"I'm Henry." He tells me. I hesitate but I eventually tell him my name. "Oh, I know. We've been in the same school for years. You're two grades ahead of me." He tells me. I look over at him, mouth slightly parted, still wondering why on Earth he's over here. Especially when he's already made it clear he knows how messed up I am.

"Oh." Is all I can think of to say though, I let one of my legs fall flat to the ground. I continue to look over at him; he looks like he's trying to find something to say too.

"I see you a lot in the hallways, we have math class together. You don't really talk much." Right, we have math together because I failed out of math last year and he's actually not bad at math. Very nice, thank you so much for reminding me about that Henry. But it's pretty easy to see that he's not trying to be mean, and I don't have the energy to get sassy with him.

"Yeah." I tell him, biting at my lower lip, looking back down at the ground.

"So uh…what brings you up here?" He asks, still trying to keep the conversation going. I've got to hand it to him, he's trying very hard, and I've got no clue why. I have no idea who this kid is, why should he want to talk to me? Still, his question makes me uncomfortable, it's not the kind that I can rightfully answer to some stranger, so I counter in the least intelligent way ever.

"Why are you here?" He looks over at me, very amused like this is some kind of game.

"I asked you first." He reminds me, grinning playfully and I can't help but crack a smile. Maybe he's not doing it on purpose, but Henry sure does an excellent job of brightening things up. Maybe he's used to dealing with really messed up people, maybe he's not but this little smile is probably the nicest I've felt in a very long time. It doesn't run to my core though. It's like clothing, it sits on the outside and doesn't get absorbed in. The Risperdal blocks that and as soon as the smile appears, it is gone.

A shallow, mild, fleeting bit of happiness. Is that all my miracle drug will allow me?

Even so, this one little smile, this one little moment of very brief, very faint happiness is all I need to know I like Henry well enough. He's probably the nicest person I've met in a very long time, and Doctor Madden is always on my case about getting out and talking to new people and making friends so that I can "carry on with life and finally let Gabe go." So why not Henry? Why shouldn't he be my first friend since Gabe's death?

"I didn't want to be home alone." My answer is quick and unspecific and I don't even look at Henry while I speak, but for making me feel decent, I figure the least I can do is give him an honest answer. Why he wants to get to know me, I have no clue, but I'll play along, after all, nothing can really get worse.

"I guess that's a good reason." He nods at me, finally taking a fallen stick into his hand and he traces little patterns into the bare patches of dirt around the grass. He waits a minute more before telling me why he's here. "I'm waiting for my girlfriend…friend…girlfriend." He finally decides on and I want to inquire because I know I should be curious but that sort of relationship is too familiar to me, and I really don't want to open the wound back up. "And, I mean, of course get some green." He holds out the little plastic baggie, with absolutely no digression and I feel so awkward at the site of it that I curl back in on myself and nod. He chuckles a bit at my reaction, smiling, which is kind of irritating. How can a human being be so laid back, so easily amused by everything? It must be nice to be Henry.

I can't think of anything to say, but I really like the idea of actually holding a conversation with someone, even if it isn't someone I'm comfortable with like my mom and Doctor Madden. So, I come up with something completely stupid and pointless and unimportant.

"Um does she…um smoke too?" I ask, nodding down to the bag. He shakes his head, still grinning while he shoves it back into his pocket.

"Nah, that's not really her thing. She's straight laced as can be, seriously, she never just sits back and takes a break. It's good though, I mean, I'm the opposite so she's kind of perfect for me." He smiles. I look up and I wish I didn't. I know that look in his eyes. Dread falls over me for a split second and evaporates the second it tries to sink passed the surface, thanks to the Risperdal. He's in love with her. Hopelessly, desperately in love with this girl. I think of Gabe, think of him kissing me, holding my hand, pleading with me.

The Risperdal blocks out the sweetness of the memory a few seconds after it arrives.

"Oh, okay." I say, biting my lip again while silence falls. We sit there and it's not too terribly awkward, mostly because Henry is just so relaxed about everything that there's no need to try and keep a conversation going.

I expect the silence to go on forever, but determined footsteps break the silence. I assume it's Henry's girlfriend. There goes my company, oh well, I'll just sit by the tree until I know my house is no longer empty, I figure.

That is, until I discover who his girlfriend is.

"Hey!" He greets her. I can hear the excitement in his voice, but she doesn't sound so enthused.

"Hey." She murmurs. I look up. Not because she mumbled or because she sounded half as excited as he was, but because I know the voice. I grew up hearing that voice. I'd know that voice anywhere; it might as well be the voice of one of my own family members. Natalie Goodman.

Gabe's sister.

No. There is no way she's Henry's girlfriend, it's not possible it's…actually incredibly likely going off of what Henry said about her, which is, admittedly, not much.

But there she is, clear as the day, not fading out the way I always am. I stare up at her, and my nausea gets worse. I've avoided Natalie like the plague since Gabe's death. She and I were never on bad terms, but she's a Goodman, she and Gabe share genes, they have tiny similarities that make my brain feel like it's on the brink of destruction. For the first time since I've been on Risperdal, I feel pain. Sharp, devastating, crippling pain that consumes me for at least two minutes. It's like I've just watched Gabe die again. Our ten years of friendship and then its gruesome end play on a loop in my mind and I feel my nails break the skin of my leg.

But after two minutes, the pain is gone and replaced by a hollowing sensation. I wonder if anyone noticed that, if anyone felt that as strongly as I did or if it was all in my head, like everything else seems to be. Apparently Natalie noticed though, because her eyes are no longer on Henry, but on me. Angry, lost confused, hateful, hurt eyes, eyes that look nothing like her brother's but hurt me just as much.

"You…" She whispers and I bite down on my lower lip, backing further into the tree, hitting my head hard on it. She's getting paler, so am I and we stuck there, staring at each other, at a complete loss for words until Henry speaks.

"Oh yeah, Natalie, this is—"

"I know who she is Henry." Natalie snaps. Same old angry Natalie. That isn't comforting.

"Y…you do?" He asks, looking between us, wondering if he has made a mistake talking to me, which, of course he has, but now it's a bigger mistake. Something tells me Natalie doesn't really want to see me either.

"Yeah." She grumbles, looking between us, and I get the feeling there's this bubble inside of her that's filled with hurt and rage and said bubble is about to pop. I, on the other hand, don't feel anything. And that makes this entire situation all the more awkward.

"Oh um, are you guys friends?" He asks and Natalie actually groans hiding her face in her hands. When she finally comes up, I'm standing, ready to leave.

"No. She…she was my brother's girlfriend. Before he died."

Silence. No one will break it, or perhaps it's too strong to break, I don't know, all I know is that I am paralyzed. I want to run, but my legs are heavy, tied down, sinking into the ground, my chest is so tight, I can't breathe, and my veins have ice in them. This second will never pass, this dull, barely palpable ache in my chest will never fade. It shouldn't hurt this much, but I know how much it's trying to hurt me, I can feel it's efforts and that's enough to destroy me. I can't move. I can't feel my legs.

I wonder how long things will stay like this, I wonder if it will be long enough for the Risperdal to fade from my system so I can feel the pain along with this burn.

"I was his best friend, actually." The correction feels almost necessary. It helps me separate the Gabe I knew, the Gabe I loved from the one that I created, the one who manipulated me. Natalie gives me a look that's less than approving.

"Right, because you guys didn't totally blur that line all the time." She rolls her eyes and fixes her lips into this scowl, but there's something in her eye's that gives her away. She looks like she is about to cry. "This is so messed up." She says, looking away from Henry and I. She takes a step away from us and Henry stands up quickly, grabbing onto her wrist. She tears away. The motion is so familiar; I almost reach out to grab her to stop her from being hit by a car.

My breath catches in my throat and my eyes widen. Suddenly, a pounding starts up in my temples. So familiar. So vivid, so real. Remarkable, exuberant, austere. Natalie slowly calms down and lets Henry take her hand before the two walk away.

And me? My loneliness doesn't matter anymore, because my head feels like it's about to burst. My thoughts are going haywire, my nails are biting so sharply into my palms that blood starts to drizzle out. Months. It's been months since I've felt this kind of sharp, burning pain.

This hasn't happened since I started taking Risperdal, I've been sane, calm, repressed.

Now I feel electric, I feel like I am on fire in the most beautiful way possible, but this terrifies me. Because this means my medicine is wearing off.


	8. Chapter 8

Two more installments left.

I own nothing.

Hope you guys enjoy.

Still unbeta-ed.

* * *

><p>8.<p>

I get home in fifteen minutes, and that's with me full out sprinting, but still, no one is home. The panic sets in very quickly and hyperventilation comes on so fast that the second I am in the door, I fall to the ground.

The tremors are back, violent as ever, My own skin is so tight, I want to claw it off, want to rip it off of me and have something stretchy and comfortable grow back. My body is a cage, I have to break it, have to escape it. When my nails finally start touching muscle, I pull my fingers back and come back to reality.

Blood, blood on my hands, on the floor, slipping down my arms like rain. I feel like a small wounded animal and look like one too, I am sure. I don't have any coherent thoughts, everything is jumbled, more so than it was before, it's like my brain is trying to make up for being so clear for these past couple months by throwing in as much crazy as possible. Tears start spilling out of my eyes and I have no clue why, I don't understand where they're coming from, I can't control them, I touch my eye, feeling the wetness but it's still so confusing to me. The tears are pouring hot and fast and hard, I cannot even see in a few minutes time. I try to stand up and walk away, maybe go get something to clean up the tears and the blood because a small part of me understands what is happening and is trying to take care of the mess, but my sight has not returned and I only move to the next room over before I fall to the ground.

I don't know how long I lay like that on the floor, crying and bleeding and shaking. I hear a few screams and try putting my hands over my ears to block them out before I realize they're coming from me. I grab a pillow off of the couch and scream and cry into that.

Risperdal is not only an imperfect drug, but a completely ineffective one as well. Five months. Five months and already it has worn off. Either something is wrong with the pills, or something is wrong with me. I flinch roughly and violently and scream even louder because I'm sure the latter is more likely.

I am broken, unhinged, I've flown completely off the handle. I am beyond in ruins, I am beyond recognition, I am—

I feel someone's hands on the small of my back. The hands slide up and onto my shoulders and pull me up. They fall back down and linger on my hips before someone's body makes contact with mine. Warm, hard, strong, familiar. I know who this is, I've known since the second their hands touched my back but I wish I didn't know. My breath is still coming in far too quickly, far too soon, but now it's just as shaky as my body is.

"No." I whisper. "No, stop it."

"Shhh…" A striking, tenor voice hushes me. I choke out another small scream. I hate how wonderful this touch feels. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me tightly to him so that I am sitting in his lap. I'm too busy gasping and choking and crying to break free, but I squirm, hoping that somehow, he'll let me go.

"I promised you, I'd come back." He whispers into my ear and I whimper.

"Get away from me." I beg. "Please."

"I'm not going to hurt you." He coos, but, still, I thrash and sob and try to pull away, all in vain. I will never win; Gabe will always be stronger than me. Even now, even when everything comes crashing down. He's got full control, no matter how much I push and pry and try to tear him off of me.

"Go away." I snap, still sobbing. "You're not Gabe." I say, more for myself than for him. This isn't Gabe, I remind myself. Gabe is dead. I am here, I have to move on without him. The clarity doesn't help things, it just makes the pounding in my head even worse. Throbbing, aching, stinging, screaming, biting, scratching, clawing, pounding, stabbing, hitting. A round of violent tremors explode across my body before the pain in my head becomes so terrible, I pass out.

I wake up very shortly after, I guess, because my mom is just getting into the house and her eyes look so alarmed that I am shocked back into reality and not allowed a post-sleep daze. Gabe's hand is on my shoulder and is rubbing soft, supposedly soothing circles against it. A whimper escapes my lips and I hear my mom call my name.

"Mommy, it stopped working." I choke out, darting up, I'm on my feet within seconds. All of the blood drains from my mom's face and if I thought I saw fear in her eyes before, she has proven how wrong I can be. She runs over to where I stand and grabs my arms in her hands, looking down at the wounds. "I didn't do that on purpose mom, really, I swear." I cry and she shushes me, grabbing me and hugging me as tightly as she can.

"I'm not leaving." Gabe says, he sets a hand on part of my back that my mom isn't touching and I cling tighter to my mom.

"He's back, mom, Gabe's back." The comforting ends here. My mom pulls away from me and holds me by the top of my arms. She looks at me like I've just told her I killed her cat or something. She nods, one sharp, quick nod and says,

"Okay, get in the car; we're going to go see Doctor Madden." I follow her orders, but as I head out the door, I hesitate and look back. Gabe is smirking at me and suddenly, the car cannot move away from the house fast enough.

We wait only twenty minutes for Doctor Madden, he sees us in the waiting room and asks us why we're here and mom tells him we need to go talk in his office right away. I pull the sleeves of my hoodie down even farther, hiding my hands in it. I don't care that it's April, the gouges my fingernails left in my arms are disgustingly gory, I cannot stand to look at them and if that's how I feel, I cannot imagine how other people would feel about them.

"Alright, take a seat." He tells us once the door has closed and he returns to his usual chair. As a reflex, I take my seat on the couch and, for the first time since starting on the Risperdal, I recoil on myself. I curl up into a ball and take my legs into my arms. Doctor Madden seems to notice this change in body position, because his eyes widen and he looks up at my mother. "Now, what seems to be the problem?" His tone is very professional, and I am thankful for that, but I know my mother is going to lose it anyway.

"Her medicine stopped working." My mother says in this frightening, angry, deadpan. Doctor Madden's eyes widen even more but he composes himself quickly and looks to me.

"Stopped working completely?" I nod. "The headaches, the tremors, the heavy breathing, the racing thoughts, all of those are back?" Again, I nod.

"And Gabe." His face turns that same frightening white that my mother's turned when I told her the same thing. It's not comforting at all. What's worse is that I can feel Gabe standing behind me. He puts a hand down on my shoulder and I turn around to look at him. He smiles down at me. But the smile isn't warm and comforting. It twists and distorts and his entire face begins to morph in a way I know isn't even physically possible. It continues while I hear voices pick up around me, until finally Gabe's face returns to normal. He leans down to kiss my forehead and I almost melt under his touch. No, no, please don't let this be happening. Please let anything else be happening. Let me die instead of living like this.

"I understand your concern. The chances of this happening were slim but not impossible. Her symptoms were very strong and Risperdal didn't even treat the negative ones. It doesn't usually happen this soon, but often times, especially in children, the effectiveness of anti-psychotics decreases until the drug is no longer effective."

"We paid for these sessions and the medicine because they were supposed to make her better, you tell me how any of this has made my daughter better! If anything, things have gotten worse!" My mother shouts.

"The longer symptoms have time to manifest, the worse they get, medicine is one of the very few things that work in cases with schizophrenia. If she had been left untreated for these past five months, I can assure you, the symptoms would be much worse." Doctor Madden insists, and his tone is still as calm and assuring as possible, but my mother is not backing down.

"What do we do next then? She can't live like this, my family cannot live like this!" My mother slams her hand down onto the back of the couch and I flinch and involuntarily recoil into Gabe's touch. He strokes my shoulder and I grab his hand before I remember it's not really Gabe. I break away from this creature I have created in my own sick, twisted mind and start hugging myself a lot tighter. My breathing goes crazy and I pinch my eyes shut, trying to control myself. I remember the hold the Risperdal had on me and I try to mimic it in my mind, try to make it all go away, but my brain is too scattered, nothing is clear, everything is clouds and grey again and I cannot fix it. Everything is breaking and medicine can't help it, nothing can help it. I start to shake even harder and this time a violent pounding manifests itself behind my eyes. I wince, but no one hears me over the argument.

"We can try different medicines, have trial periods where we test the effectiveness of each drug, it's not ideal, but it's one of the few ways we can treat her illness without straying away from drug therapy." He says. I look tentatively back at my mother, risking the blinding pain the light causes. Her expression makes things even worse. She looks tired and scared and lost and my wrists almost ache at the reminder of the last time I saw that face.

"Is there any other way? Something that would make this go away for good?" She asks, desperately, almost pleading. I bite down hard on my lower lip because I know now how much damage my nails can do. I close my eyes again and cover my head with my hands. Somehow, my hands take on the weight of the world and they start to crush my head.

"Yes, but they're not courses of action I'm willing to take with her until we've completely ruled out drug therapy." Doctor Madden says.

"Why?" My mom asks.

"I just want this to be over." My voice. I don't look up, I can't, my head hurts too badly but I know all eyes are on me. The hand Gabe has placed on my shoulder goes limp for a minute before he pulls me closer, possessively. "I want…just want this to stop…" I'm having a hard time finding the words now, thanks to the pain in my head and I cringe. "I want to get better." I feel hot, fresh tears start to prickle at my eyes because of this splitting pain. I double over onto my knees and groan.

"There's a method of treatment with a very high success rate…" Doctor Madden begins, but there's so much nervousness and hesitation in his voice that I don't believe what he says for a minute.

"What is it?" My mother inquires, I feel her hand on my shoulder now, very gently and I know Gabe must be glaring at her.

"They should know by now to stop trying to help you. I'm the only one who can help you." Gabe whispers and I shake even more violently. His words feel like daggers are being shoved into my head and a tiny scream falls through my lips before I start biting down on them again. Or maybe I imagined screaming, because no one reacts.

"Electroconvulsive Therapy. Shock Therapy." Now the silences is as thick and splitting as the pain in my head. I thought the lack of noise would make things a little easier, but it doesn't. If anything, it makes it worse.

"No. We can't do that, not this young…" My mom protests but Doctor Madden stops her.

"Exactly, that's why I want to keep trying different drugs, really, it's like dating, this sort of thing. She has to keep going until she finds the right one."

"He's trying to make you numb again. Risperdal was the best they could do and that still had terrible side effects. You can't let them do this to you." Gabe whispers to me. I hate to think it, but he has a point. The numbness helped keep me sane, but it stopped me from being real. I know I will not have perfection, but surely, there must be something close.

"I don't want her to be your guinea pig." My mom tells him.

"I don't want more medicine." I say. Again, all eyes on me, I can feel it, even if I am still hiding away. "Please, something else. I want to feel again. I want to go back to before." I whimper as another sharp, piercing dagger is stabbed into my skull. I can tell Doctor Madden is trying to think of something to say. My mom probably is too, Gabe is the only one who can find the words, but if anyone could, it would be him.

"Good girl. You know, I didn't mean to hurt you, I promise, I was trying to save you from this. I knew it would end up like this. But we'll try again, just as soon as you're ready" He tells me and the tears fall even faster. He knew I'd be a train wreck from the beginning, he knew I'd be impossible to treat, he knew I'd be a disaster. Everyone must have known. I feel nauseous and miserable and terrible and I finally look up at Doctor Madden, hoping he can offer up some miracle that can make the tears stop. He doesn't.

"I wish I could offer up another solution, but Schizophrenia is not an illness that can be treated without medicine. It's an illness much like Diabetes, left untreated, it can destroy you." He says in this voice that lets me know he truly is sorry for me. That doesn't make things any better though.

"Fine." I say, my voice is so dead and so worn. There is no strength in me to fight, and I wouldn't if I could. Just let this end, I think. Just put me on so many medicines, I don't know how to think. Give me a lobotomy, let me be normal and self controlled, let me remember to learn to forget. "Please, just make this all stop." I beg. I try not to think about how messed up I am, how completely beyond repair I have become, I really do, but as Doctor Madden starts telling my mom and I about the medicines that I will be trying, that is all I can think about.

I am broken, a shell of what I used to be. I am destroyed, there is no mending me. Something has been shredded to pieces inside of me and no matter how much medicine I take, I know, without a doubt, I will never truly be healed.


	9. Chapter 9

Only one more part left. I hope you guys have enjoyed these.

Still unbeta-ed.

I own nothing.

Read and review!

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><p>9.<p>

Just because you know something is ending, doesn't mean that it hurts less when it ends. When you're on the final book in a series, it doesn't stop you from crying once you see "the end". When you go to see a play for the second time, you don't relax through the suicide scene, just because you know it is going to happen. When you see a movie where the lead character has some chronic illness and there is no sign they will be cured, your heart still breaks when the movie is over and they die. When all signs point to a crashing, burning end, it does not soften the final blow.

_The race is far from over, no the race has just begun._

I tell myself this over and over and over again, because the end of my senior year is approaching fast. Whether or not I will graduate is anybody's guess. I've done so abysmally in school since Gabe's death, I'm surprised I'm still passing anything. My grades picked up when I started on Risperdal, but not enough to save me from a year and a half worth of destruction.

Even if I do graduate, I haven't applied to any colleges and the Community College application deadline has already passed. Besides, if I keep going through medicines as fast as I have been, it will be impossible for me to get through a semester of college without seeing Gabe and breaking down and forcing my roommate to request a transfer. I am in no condition to face the real world and no matter what Doctor Madden says, I don't believe I ever will be.

I have tried three different medicines in the past month. From April to May. One of the medicines never worked in the first place, Doctor Madden said it would allow me to feel a little bit more, maybe allow me to live closer to a normal life, but I'd still experience some of the positive symptoms like the mood swings and the headaches. But really, that one gave me too much feeling, Gabe never left, my head still pounded and I could barely breathe most of the time. So we tried another that worked up until last week. Those ones were far worse than the Risperdal, they took away everything and made the negative symptoms worse, like the numbness, the lethargy, all of the things that could lead to me getting more depressed. So Doctor Madden decided those weren't working the way we needed them to, and put me on this one that I am on now. I don't know what it's called, it's good though, I guess. I don't have bad headaches anymore, I don't hyperventilate as easily or go into panic attacks, my mood swings don't frighten anyone, and for the most part, Gabe is gone.

I sometimes hear his voice. When I am in that hazy state between awake and asleep, when my energy is low or I'm zoning out, when it's about an hour before I should take another dose, any times of vulnerability. But I don't see him, which is good. His voice is quiet too, like a whisper, I can ignore it. That's got to be some kind of success, when at best, I've come undone.

What do I have to fear in something I can't see? What is the worst it can do to me?

Things are coming to a close, with the end of the school year, but it feels there is still so much left. Things are coming into place, loose ends are being tied up, but the story has barely even started.

I talk to Natalie one day on accident. I blame Henry. He and I run into each other and I'm ready to turn around and pretend I didn't see him and I didn't talk to him at the library and he doesn't know about my awkward history with the Goodman family, but he will not allow me that pretense.

"Hey, wait up!" He calls, running after me. He darts in between people and finally makes his way over to me, which makes me a special brand of uncomfortable. I don't even know what to say to Henry, but he seems to want to talk to me so badly. "Hey, what happened the other day? I was trying to calm Natalie down, and you ran off." He reminds me. I wince and look at my shoes while he talks, staring at the pink and orange argyle socks peeking out of my sneakers.

"Yeah. I had to get home." I say, very shortly, hoping he'll dismiss the subject, but now that I know he has dealt with Natalie, who is so much more closed off than I will ever be, I know that he just won't give up.

"What happened? You seemed pretty freaked." He says, and again, I flinch.

"Look, Henry…" I start, but he stops me and puts a hand up.

"I'm not gonna lie to you and say that I get it or anything, I just want you to know that if you need anyone to talk to, I can handle messed up situations really well." He says, giving me this serious look that is so different than the goofy grin he was giving me a week ago. He'd be a good friend, I think. I wouldn't tell him everything, of course, maybe just bits and pieces, but I remember, for a moment, what it is like to have friends, and I think that maybe, just maybe, Henry could be my friend.

But my thoughts change very quickly, because I see him waving someone down with this eager grin on his face and I know that kind of excitement, it is too much to just be a friend. I brace myself, expecting the worst.

The worst never comes though. Natalie walks over to us, looking beaten and exhausted and miserable, as usual, but she takes Henry's hand in hers and looks up at me and then back down at her feet without saying anything biting or sarcastic. I'm about to walk away and leave them be when she actually stops me. She calls my name and I spin back around.

"Look, I'm sorry about the other day, okay? Things at home haven't exactly been easy since everything happened with Gabe. Actually, they've sucked." She says, looking at me with this look that says she doesn't want to explain anymore and I get it, instantly. I remember Diana Goodman. Gabe's mother, the woman who has been suffering from Bipolar Disorder for as long as I can remember. I can only imagine what things have turned into at their house, for all I know, Diana could be hallucinating Gabe too. No, things cannot be going well there, and how selfish am I to think I am the only one who is falling apart and still falls apart to this day. I nod at her and she puts her hands in her pockets.

"I'm sorry." I say, although I don't know whether or not it's for Gabe or for her or for her family or for anything. She doesn't seem to either, she lifts an eyebrow at me, but after a moment, shrugs and accepts it.

"Yeah, well…I'll see you around, I guess." It's strange, but I think Natalie accepted my apology. I go to turn around, but she calls again. "Wait." I rock back on my heels and wait for her. She struggles with this next part, like she doesn't want to say it but knows she should. Or maybe the opposite. "There's something you should probably know. About Gabe." My breath catches in my throat and I feel nauseous, but I nod and wait for her to tell me, trying to be brave, trying to stick it out. "The morning that he died, he told mom and I that he was going to tell you he loved you. That he'd been waiting for six years and he was finally going to tell you." She says it so nervously, so anxiously, that I nod at her, and am forced to thank her before I run away. I can't decide if that makes me feel better or worse, but the second I get into the bathroom I am running toward, I find the first stall and let the nausea overcome me.

Doctor Madden likes when I talk about Henry and Natalie, although I don't do it often, because outside of asking Henry for help in math, I don't talk to either of them, but I know he thinks this is a good step. Sometimes, I do too. Sometimes, but then I remember how broken I am, and know there is no going back to before.

Still, Doctor Madden is helpful, he offers up advice that I sometimes listen to, he lets me talk, and seems happy about my recovery, and I know it is because he feels like he is finally putting the puzzle together with me, but still, seeing other people's happiness gives me hope. And hope is a good thing. Not hope for me, but for the rest of the world, I am long lost, but that doesn't mean that I can't live while the rest of the world thrives.

"And this new medicine seems to be working for you?" He asks me, jotting a few notes down on his clipboard. I find so much amusement in the fact that I hated that noise half a year ago, and now it's familiar and almost relaxing, sometimes. It doesn't feel like he's picking my mind anymore, it feels like he's been trying to help this whole time. I nod and he nods back. "Good, no symptoms showing up?" He asks. I hesitate, because probably I should tell him about hearing Gabe's voice, but I will not be able to do much better than this medicine I have now, maybe not better at all, so I do what I rarely do with him and lie.

"No." I bring my eyes up to the ceiling, trying to find something casual and colloquial to do while I distort the truth, something that will not give me away, but he's writing on his clipboard again, so I doubt he notices. "How long do you think this one will last though?" I ask him. His brow comes together, like he was hoping I wouldn't ask that question.

"It's hard to be sure with these trials you're on. Right now, we're just trying to see which medicines work and which ones don't, we're not committing to any one in particular just yet, the way we did with Risperdal, that way, if there are a few symptoms one medicine doesn't treat, then we can just move onto the next." It sounds sketchy, even to me, so I know how it must sound to him, but we both want me to get better, I think. I doubt he would try anything that he didn't think would be good, which is why he hasn't talked anymore about the ECT, although I am still curious about it. How many medicines will they have to put me through before they haul me out and hook me up and try to fry my brain out?

"And what about the ECT?" I ask. I see him getting uncomfortable again, but he shakes his head quickly.

"What about it?"

"When will we have to move to that? I'm on the third medicine already, and it's only been a month, none of these are working as well as the Risperdal was, what if they only last a few weeks each?" My words are coming out in a rush, but it sounds more like I'm worried than like I'm panicking, which is good. I don't want him to decide this medicine isn't helping and for him to take me off of it. I don't have nightmares with this one, a few untreated symptoms won't kill me, right?

"We won't even begin to consider ECT until we've drained all of our other resources, you don't need to worry about that. There are still plenty of other medicines to try out, there is a chance that none of them will be able to treat you properly, but that chance is extremely slim." He adjusts his glasses while he speaks, and I can see that he's trying to reassure me, so I don't remind him that the chances of Risperdal not being effective were extremely slim as well. I just nod and let him ask me a few more questions about the medicine and my family and school and everything that has been happening. And then I get this feeling that bothers me.

These sessions are two hours a piece, and I've been seeing Doctor Madden for so long, it has gotten to the point where I expect awkward silence, where I expect for one of us to stop talking because he cannot come up with anything more to ask me. I expect to be able to leave after only an hour or something at this point, because there are no more hallucinations, there are no more fights between my mom and I, there are no more changes. My father and brother and sister all still hold me at a distance, I haven't made any real friends, I haven't changed at all, really. It is more medication with a little bit of talking nowadays than anything. And all of this, all of this repetitive conversing, it reminds me even more of how my life has come to a complete standstill, how it has hit a wall, and I will never be able to move forward.

We talk a little bit about graduation coming up and I confess that I don't have plans and I don't know if I'll be able to graduate, and he tells me that there are plenty of successful people in the world who have gotten their G.E.D's, and that I should really try. I tell him that I don't think I can ever be successful with the way I am, but he keeps insisting that is not the case, and that he thinks I should try harder and give myself more credit.

"You've struggled this far, but you've only begun. If you keep pushing forward, keep fighting for what you want, you'd be surprised how far you can get, you just can't give up." He tells me. I nod, mostly for his sake. He's right, I _have_ struggled far, and I have only just begun. And I don't want to tell him this, but I'm tired of struggling. I'm tired of fighting a losing battle and climbing up hill, I'm tired of being beaten down each time I think I've accomplished something. I don't need things to be easy, an easy life is too far away, but I do want some stability. I want some give and take. The world can beat me down sometimes, that is fine, I can live with struggling, if sometimes I can win or sometimes things can be easy. I don't need to slide down hill, I would be fine flat lining for the rest of my life. But I know that is never going to happen.

I wonder how much more fighting I can take. I don't think I am as strong as Doctor Madden says I am though, I don't think I will amount to much before my liver is shot from all the medication or I lose my mind forever and am locked up in a padded cell with a straight jacket or some other thing happens and kills me or stops me from getting by in the world. I could get hit by a car tomorrow, and I'd have accomplished none of the things I'm supposed to do, none of the things on the list of goals that Doctor Madden makes me create.

Our session comes to a close, it is the last one this week and I'm pulling my backpack back on and standing up while he continues talking about what I should try and do for next week when I feel I have slammed into a brick wall. It doesn't hurt as bad as I think it should, I just hear Gabe's voice in my ear, mumbling something indistinct and then suddenly, I drop the bag and quickly bend back down to grab it, trying to hide the fact that I feel like I've just come crashing to an end. Doctor Madden looks at me curiously, like he's waiting for me to confess something, but I just shake my head.

"Teachers are really loading on the homework, I've never had this heavy of a backpack in my life." I tell him, trying to write it off as nothing. He nods at me and makes another comment, all strictly small talk, before returning to the list of things I am supposed to do. I don't really listen, they haven't changed much in the past couple of weeks, since nothing is changing with me.

I'm just about to walk out the door when that crashing feeling hits me again and I set my hand on the door. I turn around to look at him and speak.

"Goodbye, Doctor Madden." I say it every week, but this week, I really feel the words come out of my mouth, feel each syllable and movement of my lips and flick of my tongue. When he wishes me goodbye, that crashing feeling hits harder, so I run out to my mom's car and pretend to take a nap the entire way home. Because I cannot shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this isn't really the beginning. That maybe, just maybe, this is the end.

Today is Saturday, and that crashing feeling is what I am greeted to when I wake up. I roll over out of bed and get dressed and brush my teeth and pull my hair into a braid and go downstairs to eat breakfast. My mom greets me, same as usual, getting ready to go work one of her many jobs. My dad is already at work, my sister is still asleep and my brother left hours ago. I have a spoon full of cheerios in my mouth when my mom asks me something.

"Would you mind walking up to the pharmacy today and picking up the refills for your prescription?" She asks. She's pulling on one of her shoes and looking around for the other, so I'm sure she's running late. The pharmacy is only about a mile away, I could probably use the fresh air and the chance to get out and stretch my muscles anyway.

"I'll do that after I'm done eating." I tell her. She smiles, walking over to me, sets a hand down on my shoulder and kisses the top of my head. "Love you, mom." I tell her.

"I love you too." She says, making her way over to the door. That crashing feeling hits me so hard that I actually choke on my cereal and before I have the time to get up and tell my mom I love her again, she's already out of the house and in the car. It feels like I've discovered the answer far too late, but really, I'm no closer to uncovering the source of this feeling than I was when it first started.

When I finish my breakfast, I make good on my word and make my way over to the pharmacy, and that is when I realize how wrong everything is. The smallest things set me on the edge, to the point of paranoia, my breathing and heart rates go through the roof and my head feels like someone is taking an axe to it again. These things only happen in very short bursts, fits and starts, really and only for split seconds, so I can't even make sense of them until it is too late.

I am right near the pharmacy, waiting at the cross walk when Gabe's voice starts screaming in my ear. I can't hear what he's saying, it's all so mumbled but it it's so loud I have to pinch my eyes together and clamp my hands over my ears to block him out. Once I stop hearing him, I don't feel much better, but I know it must have just been too long since my last dose. That is the only explanation, and the second the crosswalk sign changes, I can run to the pharmacy, get my pills, open the bottle up and dry swallow my next dose the second I walk out of the store. I'm sure I'll need them by then, this morning has been worse than any of the others, as far as letting my symptoms get through. The faster I get to the pharmacy the better.

Next, several things happen all at once. In my rush to get myself better, my body moves of its own accord. The crosswalk sign is still red, and I hear Gabe screaming in my ear and while a car is honking loudly. But none of that phases me, none of that gets through to me until it is too late.

The red Jeep keeps honking at me, but when I finally realize what that means and look over, I discover that I cannot move. I freeze up completely, my arms are locked to my sides, my legs are frozen in place, I am at a stand still, moving in slow motion, maybe, while the world moves too quickly in front of me.

With my body frozen, my mind is crystal clear, I am allotted a few moments of perfect clarity, but this makes everything so much worse. I watch as the car comes closer, I watch the driver try to send a text message while steering, I watch my reflection come closer and closer and closer in their windshield and I can't do anything to get away. I think I scream but I don't move, I am locked into place, trapped, trapped, trapped. Can't get away, can't be free, can only stand and watch. Trapped.

Until the car smashes into me, and then, I fly.

I feel like I fly for days, months, years. I soar through the air, there is no chance of ending. But just as I think I will fly forever, just as I begin to think the end will never come, it does, hard and fast. I come crashing down so quickly and once my head smacks into the pavement and the cracking sound deafens me, I don't get days or months or weeks to look around.

I get seconds before everything ends.


	10. Chapter 10: Epilogue

And finally the story is over.

Thank you to those of you who have sat through all of this, thank you so much to those who reviewed and to those who loved from afar. Thank you to Emmy, my gorgeous, heavenly beta and to Alison, my biggest fan, and to all of the school friends that endured this in it's earliest stages. Thank you to my freshman English teacher, a woman who allowed me to take an Independent Study and then let me write the beautiful oneshot that this came from. Thanks to my mom for reading this, to the cast of Next to Normal, to Tom and Brian for creating such a beautiful show.

I love you guys and of course, I own nothing

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><p>Epilogue<p>

I expect pain. Tearing, splitting, crushing, crippling pain. When I open my eyes though, there is no pain, no ache, no hurt. But there is fear and confusion and an overwhelming sense of calm.

I am sitting up, sprawled out across something that looks familiar, but feels so much nicer than it should. I scoop up a handful of the pebbles from the park Gabe and I met at as kids, a scoop of what I am sitting on. In my hands, they feel cool and hard and solid, the way they should, but beneath me is warm and soft and comfortable. I look down, I am not sitting on some kind of cloud, but it feels like it.

I look at my surroundings, but I don't find the road and the pharmacy that I was near before. Instead, I see the park, the park that goes along with these pebbles, and I am alarmed. This is not possible, this park is ten miles from my house, there is no way I can be here, especially not when I know that car crashed into me right outside of the pharmacy. I suck in a deep breath, knowing that this must be a hallucination. The medicine must have stopped working and I must be trapped in some alternate reality that I've created for myself. I wonder if I will ever be free from this word. I wonder if I will ever get home to my mother, I wonder if I will ever apologize to Dan and Diana. I wonder if I will become friends with Henry and Natalie, or finish high school, or talk to Doctor Madden or mend things with my family. I suck in another shaky breath when I discover the most alarming fact.

My breathing is easy.

It is not heavy and tedious the way it feels when the medicine weighs me down, it is not dizzying and sharp the way it is when I am off of my medicine. This feeling is so foreign to me, but it strikes something in the back of my mind. This is how it feels to be sane. To breathe easy, to take breath for granted, to live like a normal person.

For the first time in two years, I feel real.

I am sure that I am not. I cannot be. I keep looking around at the park, and something about it is too perfect to be real. The dirt and grime left over from years of children playing and dirtying up the place no longer contaminates the tiny jungle gym or the too low monkey bars or the small swings. The rocks don't leave a dusty residue behind on my hand after I drop them, there are no children staring at me.

I reach and touch the back of my head, remembering the loud, splitting, cracking noise that my skull made when it hit the pavement. I pull my hand back down, expecting a lot of blood, but my hand is clean, just like this park, just like my clothes. Another oddity. This outfit hasn't been in my wardrobe for years. My favorite shorts had been torn to a point beyond repair four summers ago, the most comfortable purple T-shirt that was stained in my art class the year Gabe died, the black and white checkered socks I wanted desperately but didn't have money on me to buy. I look at my wrists, and all of the scars are gone.

Mended, healed. It does not make sense. I feel a little bit of alarm, but mostly, I feel an odd sense of relief. It isn't that this world is suppressing my senses, it's something new. It is like I know the truth, but it just sits there in the back of my head and won't allow me access to it.

I try to make sense of this all, it must be a hallucination. Or a dream, nothing else could be so perfect. I don't have perfection, I have mania and misery and rage, I do not have anything this pristine in my life, nothing could be that way with me.

I'm not blessed, I'm a mess.

"You're here." I respond to the voice instantly, I stand up and spin around and look at him with wide, scared eyes, that probably look something like a doe looking at a lion. Gabe.

This is a hallucination. I heard his voice when the car hit me, now I'm seeing him, there is no way I am in my right mind. My breath is weak and shaky and I bite down hard on my lower lip. This is it, this is the end, I am done. I'm so resistant to medicine, there is no way Doctor Madden will allow this to keep happening. I will undergo ECT, there is no stopping it, not when I have gone this far. I swallow another harsh breath and he takes a long, confident stride over to me, but I step back. His brow furrows and understanding hits him.

"It's me." He tells me, in a voice that's supposed to be reassuring. It does not help.

"I know." I tell him, I take a few more steps back. He shakes his head and tries to come up with the words to fix things, which, knowing him, will not be hard. But after all that has happened…

"No, it's really _me_. I'm not a hallucination." He knows about that, and that frightens me even more, what he's saying cannot be. Gabe is dead, I remind myself. He's been dead for two years and I'm crazy. I'm as crazy as Mozart, maybe more, who knows. I bite down on my lip and he takes a step closer.

"Why can't you just go away?" I ask him. He takes a long step forward, reaches out and takes my hand in his.

"You've got to listen, that wasn't me, I've been here waiting for you this whole time." I rip my hand back and bring it close to my torso, keeping it as far away from him as possible. I don't know what he's talking about, and I'm not sure I even want to. "I won't let go." He tells me and I glare at him.

"I've gotten that point already. I don't want you here, Gabe, that's why I took the medicine, to get rid of you!" I snap, and instantly wish I hadn't. He looks so hurt, so wounded. He looks like I am wrongfully accusing him of something, which is new. He knows what he did, he's never tried to deny it, he usually just acts like he thinks he was helping me, or something like that. This unexpected twist rubs me the wrong way, I look up at him, scrutinizing him.

"That wasn't me." He repeats. His voice has dropped to this low, urgent whisper, like he expects me to believe him. I'm just about to argue back when he takes another long step forward and takes my face into his hands. "Look at me." He says, so urgently that I can't help myself. I look up, into his eyes and am thankful that his face doesn't morph or distort again. There is something about him now though, something less twisted, something that scares me a little less, although I can't put my finger on it. "I need you to trust me." He pleads, and I know my expression becomes something close to shock. His, however, softens a bit, I watch a smile touch the corners of his lips. "You gave me that same look when I asked if I could carry you." I flush darkly and pull away from him. I feel so exposed. This hallucination knows everything about me, of course it does, it has all of my memories of him, it comes from my head, but still, he's never used this on me before. Gabe quickly catches my wrists in his hands.

"Get away from me!" I snap, he falters a bit, but he's still got that desperate look on his face, like he needs me to know something before I finally break out. I wonder if maybe then, he'll stop with all of this. I wonder, if he just tells me whatever it is, he'll let me go. If I've really lost it at last, then what is the point of struggling and fighting the insanity? I figure this really is probably all in my head anyway. What can it hurt I suppose?

Finally, I stop struggling, his hold loosens a little, he brings one hand up to touch my face, and for the first time in a very long time, I just relax into the touch, I just let it all happen. I can't tell if the feeling is beautiful or terrible, it is possibly both. When I relax though, Gabe's posture tightens up, he's much more rigid, and he takes a small step back, still keeping a hand on me.

"You have to listen to me, you have to trust me." He tells me. I don't want to, I don't even trust myself, how can I trust what surely must be my hallucination. I nod anyway, expecting something horrible and ridiculous, but nothing could have prepared me for what he says.

"You're dead."

They say there are five stages of grief. I meet the first one almost instantly.

"No…" It falls from my lips, slips right out and I don't even realize it does until a string of the word pours out. "No. No, no, no, no ,no." Like if I keep saying the word, it'll make it all come true. "No, I'm not dead, I can't be, I'm not even bleeding!" I snap at him. His brow knits together and he takes a step closer to me, like he's trying to comfort me, but all I want to do is run. I know he sees this on my face, I know he can read me well enough, because he puts both of his hands around my wrists and tightens them like shackles.

"You wouldn't be. Look at me." He orders and I do. Panic sets in quickly, because he's not bruised or cracked or broken the way his body was when I last saw him. I try to rationalize quickly.

"No, you're my hallucination, you wouldn't be!" I snap at him, trying to rip away, but of course, I know my attempts are useless, he is too strong.

"I'm not, you have to trust me!" He insists. I wrestle and struggle until, by some miracle, I get out and when I do, I shove him away from me as hard as I can.

"You tried to make me kill myself! And you kept coming back, you kept destroying everything once I'd gotten better, I'm never trusting you!" I scream at him. My hands are clenched into tight fists, my nails bite down into my palm, but all I can think is how much I hate him, and how he's lied to me, and how he's destroyed the memory of the Gabe I knew, the Gabe I loved. Again, that stupid wounded look touches his face. He takes a step back, looking like he actually wants to make things better for me. There is something so different about the way I'm hallucinating him now, like I'm trying to make it so that he doesn't look like a villain. But he is, isn't he? He's the antagonist, he's done nothing but hurt me since the day I started seeing him again.

"That wasn't me, I swear! That was the hallucination, you _know _me! You know_ exactly_ how I feel about that, I would never have asked you to kill yourself!" He insists. He's right, and I hate it. Because the real Gabe wouldn't have done that. But this can't be him, it just can't be. I look up at him and something twists in my stomach, because I get this sinking feeling that it _is_ him. I feel small tremors start up in my arms and hands and the fists slowly come undone as I look up at him. Dead. No. I can't be dead. I look around at the pristine, perfect, angelic looking park, I look up at the person that I care for most, the person who died two years ago to the day, the person that doesn't feel exactly the same way my hallucination does.

"No…I…It can't be you, you're dead." I say, and for some reason, saying the word makes my head ache. He gives me this sorry smile but doesn't come any closer.

"Yes." He says, hesitantly and I wait for the ball to drop. "And so are you."

Everything hurts, everything aches. I need light, but I've waited far too long and nothing will be made right. I bring a hand up to my chest and try to breathe, but it's so shaky, I'm not sure how much air actually comes in. I'm not sure I even need air. I look around at the park again and I know he is right. It is too perfect, I was right, I could never live to see something this beautiful and clean and magnificent.

"But…how?" I feel tears starting to prickle at my vision and I hate myself for crying and looking weak, I hate myself for not being able to conceal all of this and keep myself together. Gabe takes a tiny step closer, he looks so sorry for me, and that makes it worse, he knows I hate when he does that, but I know it never stops him. "The car?" I ask and he nods, very slowly. "My God…" I murmur. The tears start streaming down and I hide my face in my hands, I try to hide from him. I know he knows what I'm doing, but I don't care, I don't want him to see this. If I am dead, and this is him, I don't want my Gabe to know what I have become. And then I realize, he already does. He knew about my hallucinations, he knows about me, he knows how far I have fallen.

I hear him make a soft shushing sound, I hear him tell me it is going to be okay, and I don't know how it is, but I know something that might make it a little better.

I lunge out and throw myself into his arms. I wrap my arms as tight as I can around his neck, I'm only on one foot, but I don't even try to regain my balance, I just push myself close to him, and cry and let myself fall apart, because suddenly, none of it matters. He responds instantly and holds me close. He grabs the fabric of my shirt tightly while I sob and break and fall apart. He is there to catch the pieces, I suppose the falling is not so bad when he is there to catch me.

I don't know when I hit bottom, I don't know when it hurts so bad I can't even think, I don't even begin to realize anything until the recovery period starts to come. It's slow and only comes in little stutters and spurts, but with each passing minute, I start to feel a bit more whole. Still, it is a few more hours after the relief stops coming that I can finally let go of Gabe.

I look at him and set my hand on his chest, still trying to make sense of what is real and what is not. I try to put together a list in my head. First, I am dead, I know that for sure, next, this is Gabe. Not my hallucination, not a memory, but my Gabe. The Gabe I loved and lost. The next thing to figure out would be where we are. I look up at him and try to covey that question, but there is only so much that can be conveyed without words, even between us.

"Gabe?" I say his name and I love that when I say it, it doesn't hurt, he doesn't scare me, he is not my hallucination. He gives me a small smile in response. "Where are we?" His brow wrinkles in consideration as he looks around.

"I don't actually know that. They were vague when I asked them." He answers and I lift an eyebrow.

"They?"

"I don't know that either." He admits sheepishly, and I know how unpleasant this must be for him. He always wants to have the answers. "I asked, they just didn't tell me. It's some sort of afterlife, I suppose." He says, looking around at the playground, keeping his hands on me.

"What _did _they tell you?" I ask, trying out a little smirk, but it still feels weak. All the same, he plays along and chuckles.

"That this place is meant for us. Other people can pass by, but this place was made for us." He smiles and I beam back at him. "They said we're soul mates." He leans over to kiss my forehead. I laugh.

"Really? I didn't think that was a real thing." I admit. He shrugs.

"I guess it is. That's the reason we're allowed to share this place." It's silly, cheese, really, but I can't help my smile, it just grows and before I know it, he starts laughing, probably at how ridiculously wide I'm grinning. "They said I could move on somewhere else or that I could stay and wait for you. And I chose you." My heart slams in my chest and he brings his hands up to my neck. He tips my head back and sets his lips down on mine. Just like that first time, that last time, I react instantly. I grab his shirt tightly in my hands, balling it up in my fists and I stand on my toes and push my lips back against his.

"I've missed you so much." He tells me. This wonderful, pleasant warmth spreads through my limbs and I move in closer, setting my head on his shoulder.

"I've missed you too." I whisper.

"But we never have to be apart, again." He assures me and I smile.

"I know." I beam.

"We can be together, forever." He promises and I nod.

He's right. And that is how we spend the rest of eternity

Together, forever.

-The End-


End file.
